


Hearts of Gold

by fish_wifey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character studies, Confessions, Family Visit, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, From friends to lovers, Fukuroudani third years as first years, Get Together, Komi pov, Komi-yan the fashion police, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Sleepovers, Slow Burn, Team Dynamics, Third Years as First Years, Will contain sexual content, anxious Bokuto, becoming friends, current fukuroudani team origin story, fruit picking trip, lots of own headcanons, owls fitnessing together, owls go on shopping trips, team interactions, volleyball heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 63,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Haruki’s eyes drift to the person sitting sitting one row to his left and two chairs ahead. They have math, the teacher explaining formulas as he writes them out on the board. As Haruki’s writing has the speed of a demon, he waits until the last second to write it all down and bow his head over the math problems the books present. Even the back of Sarukui’s head is stare-worthy; he has black, silky and soft-looking hair, and a nice neck that widens into broad shoulders. Starting chronologically, Haruki’s eyes first take in the top, slowly gaze over the rest of the sideview, ending with Sarukui’s legs and feet. He has his feet planted wide under his table, knees spread even further apart. </p>
  <p>The teacher says something, and Haruki takes that as his cue to rip his eyes away from his newly forming crush.<br/></p>
</blockquote>Komi goes to Fukuroudani academy with high hopes. He wishes for a fresh start and to concentrate fully on volleyball, not on his newfound sexuality. This quickly goes down the drain when he meets Sarukui Yamamoto. Setting his feelings aside, Komi wants to be friends with Sarukui, even when his feelings go haywire when they're close.<p>((set in first year))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When I started this fic after reading Kat's dear creator letter requesting 'hard core pinning, best friends, two stupid kids doing stupid things and kissing', but also slow burn, I thought 'HAH!!! slow burn. I can't write that. I lack the patience.'  
> Then, slowly but surely, it went up to 20k with tons of ideas I still had to write, 40k and no boys kissing yet, went over 55k when hols was slowly having its first official deadline and I wasn't done yet www I have now some 63k standing in my doc and no idea where and how they came to be 8'''D (more about chapter updates in the end notes uvu)
> 
> Educational stuff: I'm always looking up for nice names for sidechars but at one point I was so done and just went for something ridiculous xDD'' here for everyone who won't understand why 'Ito Hiro' is a name that asks to be joked about https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It%C5%8D_Hirobumi
> 
> All senpai names, school names and such are made up. I tried not to make too many seniors since it may be confusing ;;
> 
> Finally, the song title was inspired by A9's 'Heart of Gold'. I thought it was fitting given the Fukuroudani vb uniform having a little gold in it ;v; Music I listened to on spotify were happy mood genres including 'feeling good, feeling great', 'Young, wild & free' and 'Coffee club'.
> 
> Please enjoy reading~

Haruki was glad to graduate. His final year at middle school held nothing but confusion, endless volleyball practice that always ended in defeat one way or the other, feeling horny half the time, and studying for entrance exams. He had hoped to be scouted, but, when nothing of the sort happened, he had to made sure he’d done everything he could to get into Fukuroudani. Apparently a scout from that school had been present at the last match Haruki was supposed to play, but he had been injured and couldn’t participate. So instead, when his team lost, he thought of the opponents, some of which some had caught his eye, and spent the night bitter and masturbating. 

 

At last he is able to make his way over Fukuroudani’s front courtyard, and whatever quick-to-spout feelings he had hoped to overcome, spawn anew. As he is searching for the volleyball team’s stand, he runs into a tall, dark-haired, good-natured-looking, hunk. All of Haruki’s hopes, his wish of having the recent gay emotions to be left behind in middle school, are squashed. They relive, surrounded by the cherry blossom petals, when the person -named Sarukui- smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re also here for the volleyball team, too? Nice to meet you, I’m Sarukui Yamato.”

This must be an angel. Haruki was used to people making fun of him (and they soon grew accustomed to having their asses handed to them). He was used to the strange looks, eyes looking up and down his person, measuring his height (or the lack of it). To have someone not question him, kind eyes under tussled hair, and a permanent smile was just. Damn.

Also, he couldn’t do this to a potential teammate. Haruki straightens his shoulders as he looks up, keeping half of his usual libero defiance towards tall players at bay.

“Komi Haruki, I’m here to play libero.”

What Haruki hates the most is when people shut their eyes as they laugh genuinely. When they incline their heads and let their eyelashes flutter close, to flash brilliant warm smiles. It made his heart do the things Haruki didn’t give it permission to. Willing down this surge of impractical beats rising to his throat, he lifts his chin. Then, he joins Sarukui standing in line for the club’s table to sign their entrance forms, keeping his cool in appearance only. A spring breeze passes them by, cooling Haruki’s neck. Standing right beside Sarukui came with at least one small perk of being smaller than average.

The sun was to their right, and Haruki stood on the left. Without realizing it, Sarukui provides an enjoyable shade. It enables Haruki to look up at him without having to squint his eyes to avoid being blinded. It enables him to stare just a second too long.

“Did your team get far last year, Komi-kun?”

“Pretty okay. I couldn’t play the last match and we lost.” Haruki says, hands in his pockets. The past is the past, all said and done, and he’s here now to change what the future holds. Nonetheless, Sarukui bows his head, a small ‘I see’ from his lips. In front of them are a few taller guys, which rubs Komi the wrong way. He can’t look over them. Then again, they might become part of the new team. He retreats his claws. 

Sarukui bows down to him, not out of mockery, but to whisper. “I saw those guys coming from the basketball team’s table earlier. They cannot make up their minds.”

The closeness of Sarukui makes Haruki back down a little, while he looks forward with a dissatisfied scowl. There’s always kids who didn’t take club activities seriously in middle school, who didn’t have particular interests in any thing. Some of them would grow tall during the educational switch to higher education. They’d feel the threat of university looming ahead, the need to make themselves look good on paper. There all sorts of reasons why guys like this had a sudden interest in joining sports. Being tall and thinking that it can be put to good use to land them a regular spot is what makes Haruki’s blood boil in his veins.

“I hope they pick basketball.” Haruki scoffs, watching them step forward to the the table. Sarukui smiles, or rather, he has a permanent grin on his face. A hard to figure out smile, the corner of his mouths in a constant, never-wavering curl upwards. It’s not that Haruki is a distrustful man, but he’d never drop his guard. Even if the face is kinda okay-looking in his department. 

The two tall guys in front of them ask questions, one after the other. They either make Haruki sigh and roll his eyes to the sky or his eyebrows furrow deep as in thought about the universe and whether there’s hostile aliens to kill. The questions start with, of course, asking if volleyball is hard, and what the practices are like. Most high school club activities are daily, but of course the fanatics of the sports have games, at home and away, extra practices, morning routines. Haruki has played basketball with his friends in middle school during P.E., found that he did have a talent for keeping his body low and dribbling. But dunking seemed so much fun, and not being able to perform it made Haruki never pursued the other sport, or rather, didn’t stray from his chosen path. He can only imagine that basketball training, with the constant movement forward and backwards on the court is slightly harder. He hopes the volleyball team won’t make it sound it that way.

The two guys confer with each other, take the entrance slip and say they’ll think about it. To Haruki’s ears, a ‘no’ if there has ever been one. At last he can give their backs one final scowl, before he walks forward to the table. He doesn’t know how much of a bad boy attitude he’s armouring himself with until he’s spoken to.

“Oh hey, you look angry.” The voice comes from an even taller guy, nearly 2 meters, who gives Haruki a friendly smile. Immediately, Haruki’s shoulders square up, his back straightens, and he remembers his formalities. He and Sarukui greet the three club members in front of them. Haruki, needing to make sure no one dwells on his earlier face, and makes his own mouth curl up like Sarukui’s. People have told him, when he wasn’t particularly thinking of anything, that his face looked like Jeremy Renner’s ‘resting bitch face’. Haruki hadn’t known if it was a compliment because he liked Hawkeye, but it became a point of worry. 

“Thank the gods, a libero.” Another voice says, a club member only a head taller than Haruki. He eyes both of them with a wary gaze, but they soon soothe him over. “I’m Sakamoto Hitoshi, third year, and libero! Ah, my wishes have been heard. You’re Komi Haruki, from Hinohara middle school. You move really fast. I was so hoping you’d come to Fukuroudani.”

If there’s one weapon Haruki is weak against, it’s unabashed, true-meant praise from a peer. He blinks, then nods and shakes his head, unable to accept the compliments. Sakamoto keeps piling on the praise, while Sarukui looks at him now, too. 

“We didn’t have libero enthusiasts last year, and today too, no one has shown any interest.” Sakamoto let his shoulders slack, remembered that Haruki was here, then perked back up. “But my worries are over if you’re joining! Perfect.” He gave Haruki the simple form and a pen, not even questioning the ‘if’.

The 2 meter giant talks to Sarukui and asks him about his volleyball career. While Haruki fills in his name, he listens to how Sarukui’s team faced a stronger opponent in their Tokyo prelims, and were eliminated. Yet, a scout from Fukuroudani had asked him to apply for this school nonetheless, valuing Sarukui’s game assessment and quickness to jump and block. Haruki didn’t feel bitter about this. It ended up being one more reason why his heart beat against his chest. 

He hands Sakamoto his entrance form and watches Sarukui rub the back of his head as he’s handed his. 

“My game sense huh. I’m not the best at receiving yet when there’s an one-touch situation. I hope to work on that.” Sarukui said as he bent over his own form. Haruki saw that his ears and the top of his cheekbones were tinged with red, though. 

“Don’t worry. We’’ll see all that in the first training rounds.” The 2 meter guy, who introduced himself as Hasegawa Isamu, and the third club member, a second year handing them cups of water, as Ito Hiro. Haruki snorted at the name, but hid it well by drinking water. Sarukui, whose face hasn’t changed much, didn’t get off that easily.

“Hey! First year brat, what are you laughing at!?” Ito said, slamming his hand down. Hasegawa tried to calm him down to no effect. “Think my names are funny, don’t you? Have something freaking hilarious to say, don’t you?”

Sarukui blinks in rapid succession, looking at Haruki, then back to his angry, uncontained senpai. 

“Eh, I didn’t laugh.” He also didn’t say that Haruki was the one who had snorted. 

“You’re still smiling! What are you so happy about!?”

“Ito, really. Not everyone wants to make fun of your name.” Sakamoto said, clapping his second year teammate on the back. To Haruki he whispered: “Unlike me.”

This made Haruki laugh again, louder. He looked at Sarukui’s half-filled in form and made him finish, then led him away from the brash second year Hasegawa was still trying to calm down. They moved through the club activities market, ignoring all of the other stalls and advertisements and recruiters. As they came to a calmer corner of the front court of their school and sank to the grass, Haruki looks at Sarukui again.

“You do seem ever-joyous, huh.” He states. Sarukui crosses his ankles as he sits, holding them and looks to his hands. 

“It’s not on purpose. This is just- what my face looks like.” As he looks at Haruki, the latter can see the facial changes, even as the mouth doesn’t show any. There’s worry in the brows, pleading in the eyes. Haruki feels the grass under his calves of his rolled up pants, how the greenery tickles his palms. The change of facial expression is visible in the rest of Sarukui’s face, and Haruki likes that he can figure out the meaning. He gives his new friend a big smile, then pats his shoulder.

“Heh, fine with me. Just don’t let Ito Hirobumi-san catch you on it.”

They erupt in loud laughter at the name joke, Haruki leaning back on his hands, watching the cherry petals fall above and around them. 

Maybe, just maybe, Haruki could pursue a friendship here. Kill his heart’s desire’s and just relax.

If only.

*~*~*

They were also in the same class. It’s the second week of school and Haruki can’t wait until club activities start. At least during practice, Haruki would have every reason not to be in a state of constant distraction. During practice, he would have to be on his toes (literally for the receives), or else he’d get a ball to the head. His attention, when close to Sarukui, would focus solely on the boy he just befriended. On their first real school day, they had walked from the front gates to their class, Haruki never asking what class Sarukui was in, too enthralled by the notion of getting to know him. It had become unnecessary to ask when they stood in the first year hallway; they had ended up in front of the door to class 2, and realized only then they were both headed into it. 

Distraction, when seated from morning until afternoon, came easily.

Haruki’s eyes drift to the person sitting sitting one row to his left and two chairs ahead. They have math, the teacher explaining formulas as he writes them out on the board. As Haruki’s writing has the speed of a demon, he waits until the last second to write it all down and bow his head over the math problems the books present. Even the back of Sarukui’s head is stare-worthy; he has black, silky and soft-looking hair, and a nice neck that widens into broad shoulders. Starting chronologically, Haruki’s eyes first take in the top, slowly gaze over the rest of the sideview, ending with Sarukui’s legs and feet. He has his feet planted wide under his table, knees spread even further apart. 

The teacher says something, and Haruki takes that as his cue to rip his eyes away from his newly forming crush and concentrate on numbers only. Ten minutes later, Haruki starts to fidget. He makes himself not look up and to his left. It also itches in his fingers, a desire not just to play and practice, but to do so with Sarukui.

He manages to not look at him and glances at the clock instead, counting down the hours until club starts. 

*~*~* 

At the end of the last class, Haruki compares notes with his table neighbour. Yukimura appears to be better at Japanese history while Haruki’s math formulas look cleaner in comparison. Ears ever perked and tuned in to Sarukui’s voice, Haruki listens to him in the background, while Yukimura looks at Haruki’s handwriting. It’s how Haruki doesn’t jump when Sarukui appears next to him.

“Thanks, Komi-kun.” Yukimura says, then makes for the exit of the classroom. Sarukui and Haruki walk out together, headed towards the Fukuroudani gymnasium. His bag today is fuller than usual as he carries his training gear, and the weight makes his heart fonder. It’s the first time, the first practice, and Haruki brims with anticipation, eager for the niceties over and to be able to play until his legs give out. Sarukui shares this need, and voices it.

“I played beach volleyball a few weeks ago but, man, I miss playing with people who know what they’re doing.” Sarukui says, expressing his hardships of his last beach visit with his middle school mates before they all went to separate schools. Haruki laughs while Sarukui slouches under the weight of the memory. 

They’re outside the main school building when Haruki, ever the sharp eye for people towered over him. Looking larger than Sarukui, Haruki nods towards the back, as the other person walks to the same building as they are. Instead of noticing it, Sarukui looks behind them. 

“More and more. I’ve heard there have been over forty applicants.” 

“Christ alive,” Haruki scoffs, though he doesn’t feel threatened. He’s a defensive specialist and pretty confident that he will be getting onto the first string. Sarukui has been scouted, so he should be a safe bet too. All they had to do was not fuck up during try-outs in their first practice, and everything should be fine. “Do you know how many were scouted, like you?” 

Sarukui looks the bright blue sky above him before answering. Haruki lets himself stare in nonchalance, patient and waiting. He watches long lashes blink, once, twice, thinking. “Seven, I recall. They also got Bokuto Koutarou from Musashi middle.”

“The top school that went to nationals during the last competitions. It’s obvious that one of their best players would be popular to have here. It’s funny that he didn’t go to Musashi high instead.” The huge gymnasiums loomed in front of them, first years like themselves headed to the different indoor sports. The tall guy ahead of them goes to the left; in the distance, Haruki can see the black forms of kneepads, and understands that the other is clearly here for the volleyball club. Haruki notices the two from the club activities market headed right, towards the basketball court. 

Sarukui nods. “I am sure they wanted him to continue, and seen from a loyal perspective, one would have thought he’d continue at Musashi. From a logical viewpoint, however, Fukuroudani is stronger.” Sarukui adds, adjusting the strap of his shoulder bag. Waves of nervous anticipation come from him, a feeling Haruki can understand all too well. It’s not just a new beginning, a new team, new people overall; the knowledge of strong people gathering could have this kind of effect. He grins.

“Yep.” Haruki says, feeling a sort of sureness that the strength difference would stay like this, too. This school had gone to nationals a few years ago, and had been in the top 4 of Tokyo ever since. The competition between the first new years would be tough. Thrills went through Haruki’s entire system, tingling his toes and fingers. Haruki and Sarukui catch up to the other kid, who appears to be a first year like them. The excitement doesn’t ebb when all three of them were ‘greeted’ by Ito, who had his mouth open to instruct them all. 

“So nice of you laggers to join us. Get into the gym and hurry up picking out shirts.” Ito growls, although they weren’t late at all. He gestures behind himself with his thumb into the large gymnasium, his foot tapping impatiently. Then, he gives extra nasty glance to Sarukui. “Let’s see if you still smile like that when Practice of Hell starts!”

The flinch on Haruki’s left doesn’t go unnoticed, but he gives his attention to the other first year -whose face he can finally see- the side-eye; he’s met with a hawkish structured face, dark hair styled upwards, and eyes that looked nothing friendly. He stares Haruki down, who starts to smell trouble, which might as well be his own odour wafting off of his smaller body. Haruki doesn’t act on it. Introductions would come during the official round which will come either way. Following Sarukui, who is rushing inside, Haruki doesn’t let himself feel shocked by the amount of people he sees. They stand in line to pick up specific first year's training shirts in their own sizes. Behind Haruki looms the wall of a man still, who takes the largest size available. 

When they line up in front of their senpai, Haruki still feels those eyes on him. He tilts his neck to look up, nodding his chin in what could be a silent ‘what?’ or a silent ‘problem?’

Then the wall speaks. “Washio Tatsuki.”

“Komi Haruki.” Haruki responds in the same, low tone. 

“Middle blocker.”

“Libero.”

Ito cut through them as he brushes past. “Save your introductions for later, brats.”

Sarukui tried to hide behind Haruki again when their Short Fuse-senpai came by. Hasegawa asks Ito if the last first years were inside, which was affirmed loud and clear. Haruki looks forward to them, hands behind his back, ignoring Washio for now. There’s a bunch of female managers present, holding notebooks and pens at the ready. Behind them the gym door closes, and the Fukuroudani coach steps forward.

He starts of explaining the structure for the day’s practice, and lets the first years introduce themselves.

“Afterwards, we will group you based on your position wishes and see if you’re any good at them. There is no difference between those who have come from good schools and have played since they were children, or those that are new to the sport. If you have talent, you’ll be placed in the first string. If there’s too much work to be done, second string. If you lack the will, in any case, you’ll be advised to find yourselves another activity.”

The team captain, Hasegawa, takes over, as the coach walks to a single chair at the far side of the gym. “Let’s start. Name, previous school, and favoured position.”

They have a long way to go before they reach Sarukui to Haruki’s left, so he allows himself to be observant of the others. Some of the names tell him nothing, some of the schools are known. Haruki can tell which guys are new to the hierarchy; more fidgety than others. He doesn’t quite agree to the coach’s words of talent versus experience, but there’s only one way to prove that and it’s not now. 

“Bokuto Koutarou! Musashi middle school! Wing spiker, and ace!”

All years alike are thrown into murmurs, rumour-exchanges, and laughter. Hasegawa keeps on smiling, nodding to himself. Ito doesn’t seem happy. 

“Ambitious. Very well, but try to speak in complete sentences, Bokuto-kun.”

“Yes, sir!”

In front of Haruki is a blond, thinner-looking dude. He only notices him because of the scoff that comes from him in a low voice. “Why him…”

“Scared?” Haruki whispers, grinning as the blond turns his head to him. The first noticeable thing below blond bangs were the sly eyes of a fox, looking utterly despicable. There’s no answer, as the line continues with introductions, but Haruki could read this one easily. It was all about competition and showing off, in the first week, making sure to secure a good spot as soon as possible. Only the best would be offered a position, even if it would be the bench. Something told them all that Bokuto wasn’t here for the bench, and that thrill went through half of the gym, also threatening the seniors in front of them. Fox-face turns out to be Konoha Akinori, and his position-

“I was a wing spiker in my third year at middle school, but I can play any position.”

“We’ll see about that.” Hasegawa smiles kindly, while the girls, suddenly giggling, note down this information. Haruki can only imagine the pleased look on Fox-face’s features. 

“‘Kay, next line please!” It went on and on, until they finally got to the last few, including Sarukui, Haruki, and Washio. Sarukui became more nervous as his own introduction came closer, and Haruki couldn’t help himself. He loosened his grip of his left hand off his right wrist, and touches Sarukui’s elbow in a light, hopefully calming manner. 

“Relax. After this we’re gonna play. Just think about that.” Haruki grins up to him, his heart filling up when Sarukui’s shiver indicates the same anticipation that went through Haruki as well. Retreating his hand, he faces forward again. 

“And, next please.”

“Sarukui Yamato, from Gyosei academy. I played wing spiker during middle school, and would like to continue to do so.” To other people, it may have sounded meek. To Haruki’s biased ears, it was a gentle approach, drenched in humility. It went well with the seniors at least. Not that Haruki would copy it, of course.

“Komi Haruki, Hinohara middle school-”

‘His position is obvious,’ was the murmured response that soaks and drowns out Haruki’s sentence before he can finish it. He hates being put down by others because of his height, and woulnd't let his voice be left unheard. His mother always said his soul was bigger than his body.Furthermore, Haruki had always been proud to be a libero. Brows furrowing, he inhales, blowing out his cheeks, and yells even louder.

“Libero position! And nothing else!”

Fox-face snorts and his shoulders shake, Washio to his right doesn’t stare for once. Ito’s red face indicates him losing his shit. Haruki does his best to ignore all, including Sarukui’s fast blinking. He keeps his chest, chin, and pride high, still.

“Small, explosive, loud. Hope your reflexes are top notch as well, Komi-kun.” Hasegawa orders them all to be quiet, nodding to Haruki’s right.

Nothing but silence follows. For a time, Haruki doesn’t hear a thing, then there’s the softest of mumbles, nearly inaudible. He looks up to his right, and sees Washio’s lips moving, but hardly any sound coming forth. He blinks at the tall, indestructible-looking guy, who, for all his height and earlier words, has become super shy when having to speak in front of all these people.

Ito’s at his limit. He stalks forward, breaking the ranks, until he is standing in front of Washio. The row of people in front of them have stepped aside quickly, and Konoha, the fox-face, mutters about people stepping on his toes. 

“ _Brat_ I hardly saw your mouth moving, did you even speak!? You’re here for introductions, so grow some and introduce yourself properly! ...Come _again_? Oi, open your mouth. If you don’t-” Ito came closer with every outbreak, while Washio’s lips were moving, mumbling, but no single audible syllable came out of him. He stares to his feet, until Ito is right beneath his straight hawk nose.

“Washio Tatsuki from Uehara junior high school. Middle blocker position, if you please.” The speed in which Washio said it was one thing, but Haruki blanks out looking at the face red as a tomato, high and mighty, looking down at Ito as if he’d punch him if he came any closer. Ito backed down, muffled complaints about irritatingly tall first years following him every step back. The crowd calms down at last, some looking frightened of Washio.

The two meter tall upperclassman Haruki remembered he saw last time smiles widely..

As promised, once the introductions are over, they get assigned teams of four first years each. They set up the nets, put the balls into the ball basket, and get ready to warm up. After they’re done running and warming up their arms, Sarukui joins Haruki, before they have to be separated into different teams. Sarukui’s nervousness was nowhere to be seen after he spoke in the introductions, but it comes back full force as he looks everywhere but to Haruki.

“Uh, I wanted to say thanks for. Earlier. You have a calming touch, you know? Wouldn’t have expected that.” Sarukui is gone, stammering the last bit out before he’s gone, running to his own small group. Haruki is left standing in shock and a flurry of emotions whirling up in his stomach. He has hardly any time to consider, to go after him, to _process_ , when he gets blinded and deafened by the newcomer reaching his side. 

Bokuto Koutarou is, in every sense of the word, a golden boy; he’s bright, enthusiastic, and shares Haruki’s eagerness to play. While others give him weird looks, Haruki can only feel appreciation for him. He has cool hair, styled the same way as Washio’s, only with a much more horned parting in the middle. There’s a click Haruki feels instantly. It also helps that they’re standing on the other side of the net of Konoha, who ignores the other first years and clasps Washio on his back, hard and loud. 

“We’ll show you two! Right, Washio-kun!?” 

Washio’s face doesn’t move. Or twitch. Or do anything. His body is one of unwavering silence, staring down both Haruki and Bokuto. Haruki starts to believe that Washio might have a sense for strong players, observing them first. It makes Haruki grin. Sakamoto, the third year libero, joins the match on Konoha’s and Washio’s side. He explains how the senpai will mix in and see how well the first years play, while others, including the managers, will take note of their performance.

“We want to play as many rounds as we can. Oh and Komi-kun, you’ll will rotate in and out at other teams as well, coach’s orders.” Sakamoto smiles as if it a compliment, as he gives Haruki the training vest. Looking to the floor, Haruki takes the top bearing the letter ‘L’ on the front and the back. There’s a reluctance at the thought to switch around a lot. It would mean he’d also get to play with Sarukui. Before, that would have been a good thing. Haruki had been looking forward to it. But now it’s stammering words in his head making his kneepads-covered knees weak. He should be concentrating right now, elevating his focus on what’s to come. 

He can’t forget about Sarukui’s eyes that refuse to meet his.

“Hey, ‘libero and nothing else’, how about you get to the back line where you think you belong?” Konoha cackles, him and Washio getting into position at the front net, while Sakamoto takes the other first years to the back. Another senpai stands near the net as well, shushing Haruki. 

His head switches gears. Gone are the pink clouds and mushy feelings. All around him, he feels the pressure, the tension, the concentration. At the same time, several whistles goes off, and serves are made. Right off the bat, Haruki yells ‘Got it!’ and dives for the ball. It’s not routine anymore, but instinct, a higher form of conscious which makes his body move to the left, right, forward. He’s always on his toes, making his voice heard. Haruki’s plays don’t always connect flawlessly. Sometimes the would-be setter has to move around a lot, or the toss gets messy. 

But then Bokuto yells louder than anyone else, his approach fast, powerful, overflowing enthusiasm which sparkles off his wide-grinning face. While Haruki and his shortness were always meant to fight the battles on the court’s floor, Bokuto was truly meant to fly in the skies. No matter how bad the receives or tosses go, he’s there to spike it. Half of them go out of bounds and dent his bravado, but when he scores, his spikes go untouched, and the dents disappear. 

“Yeee-heees!” Bokuto yells after each and every point he scores. His voice echoes through the gym when other people on the team do well. Bokuto initiates the huddles before their senpai can, and his large hand feels warm and energetic on Haruki’s back. He feels so much power and enthusiasm run through his body that the points they miss aren’t disrupting. More than the third year senpai on Haruki’s left, it’s Bokuto who makes him believe they can win anything, as long as he’s here.

The hardest is block follows; Haruki understands that Washio is insane, his read-blocks are excellent, and although he lacks at the speed and the jump, his height and arm movements make up for it. He’s one of the few who keeps up with Bokuto, who is there to block the spikes or directs Bokuto’s aim to let Sakamoto receive the balls easier. Haruki’s side quickly loses points because of those, and because Bokuto is absolute crap at read-blocking. 

There’s also the difference between Haruki and Sakamoto. Sakamoto’s dives and digs are works of art. No unnecessary movements, easy looking, beautiful receive arcs that go back to the front lines. Washio turns out to be good at tossing too, his feet never lifting off the floor when he tosses to either Konoha or to his senpai. Haruki can feel the hawk-eyes on him, making sure to toss to a person who can definitely outplay Haruki. The latter finds himself smiling at the challenge, even though he cannot rise up to meet it at all times. It’s frustrating, but Haruki won’t let it get to him too much. 

When they have a break, he tries to maintain his focus, to analyze his mistakes and determine what to do better next time. He ignores Bokuto’s boyish loudness, or the encouraging words of his second year senpais. Instead, Haruki’s ears tune in to a far away sound, a voice not too soft. On a the court furthest away from them is Sarukui, who doesn’t dive for receives but does a good job nonetheless. Haruki’s focus melts away, and he finds his heart cheering when Sarukui’s plays go well. 

The short break is over in no time, and Haruki sets the water bottle down, rushing back to the court. His legs feel weirder than before, and he cusses under his breath when the first serve from Washio goes right off his forearms. The other team cheers, Konoha the loudest. Things don’t go too well thereafter; even though he manages to keep up and not fuck things up too greatly, they do not obtain enough points for a break. 

Even Bokuto’s spikes seem to fail more often than not. It also attacks the spirit of the teen. Haruki doesn’t feel like it drags everyone down, but he does feel the heaviness in his legs. He tries harder, needing his plays to connect properly, to help the wing spikers. 

In the end their team loses the set by a 6-point margin. 

“Hah, that’s a bummer.” Bokuto says, half-lidded eyes full of irritation and doubt. It’s a 180° change from how he had behaved beforehand. As soon as Haruki sees it, Bokuto changes his face, smiling and upbeat. He clasps the teammates who are in the same year as he is, and thanks the senpai profusely. At last Sakamoto comes to their side, giving pointers. In the end he tells Haruki to switch teams, too. 

“A few teams are off-number, so you can practice in and out as usual. Mhn, I’m actually changing teams as well, so you can come back after the next set and change with my spot.” Sakamoto directs Haruki to a team which has a bunch of out of breath first years, complaining second years, and angry-looking third years. Seems like they lost a set, too. Haruki introduces himself without trying to imitate Bokuto’s bubbliness. If a person cannot switch gears or pick himself up, they have no place on a court where only the strong are allowed to play. Selfish, Haruki places himself on the backline, right in the middle. He has no connections with any of these people yet, and although he’s not here to play for himself, he will try to shine as much as he can. Face hard, he waits for the whistle, then stands on his toes for the receive.

This set goes worse than in the other team. Haruki is surrounded by first years who are amateurish in their receives, whom he has to go after and actually get the balls forward instead of backwards and out of bounds. He runs more this time, trying not to cuss at anyone. When he addresses the guys the same age as him, he tries to help out and shows off how to move, how to hold your arms, to move your whole upper body and not just the arms. The second half of the set goes better and has fewer mistakes, but the point gap is nothing the senpai can close themselves. 

A third year named Yamashita takes some of the first years to the side and quickly practices receiving stances with them. He excludes Haruki, of course. Catching his breath, Haruki tries to find Sakamoto, as he’s supposed to switch places again after this short break.

“Things going well?” Sarukui asks, standing next to him all of sudden. The appearance surprises Haruki, who can’t reply, as water runs down the wrong hole in his throat. Face reddening, he bends over, punching his chest as Sarukui softly rubs his back, apologizing.

“Ah, ch-yeah,” Haruki coughs in between, trying to smile and regain his dignity. “Not too-hoo-” another cough wrecks his little body. “Not too awesome, I must say.”

“Mhnn, that’s too bad.”

“Did you win the sets?”

Sarukui shakes his head, holding up on finger. “One out of two. We’re going to play the third now.” 

Finally not choking on water or stupidity, Haruki holds the betraying water bottle to his side, low. He’d wished he could join Sarukui’s team after all, to maybe help out and have them win a set. It would be cool to be that knight in shining armour. Alas, the second coach yells for the teams to switch; some teams are supposed to stay on one court and have others come to them, while those others are supposed to make the rounds. Sarukui says goodbye to Haruki, who trods through the hall in search of yet another team-change. 

He finds Washio’s head high above a crowd, and changes direction towards their space. Coming closer, Haruki sees Konoha in high spirits. They won against Bokuto twice in a row, watching the other leave, also in high spirits. Bokuto is already gone to the next court, first to arrive, jumping up and down the net, rallying the troops lagging behind. Konoha laughs, watching the display. “That guy is going to make the starting line up on spirit alone.” 

When he puts his bottle down, he notices Haruki. “Aah, finally come to join the winning crowd, are we?”

Haruki feels a comeback on his lips, but swallows it when Konoha lifts his arms up for a high ten, as a welcome to the group. Not one for bitter feelings or grudges, Haruki puts his bottle down as well, high-tenning first Konoha, then Washio, who wasn’t ready and hastily puts up his arms too high. Haruki laughs and has to jump to meet those hands. 

They’re being told to stand on the backline in starting position. Haruki assesses the other team as quickly as he can, while Washio tests the ball before he serves it. Hands on his knees, Haruki breathes in and out, his cheeks big. He wants to win this, so he can join up with Sarukui at any moment and carry a load of self-confidence and a winner’s attitude. 

The whistle sounds, and Sarukui’s smile creates an even bigger mess in Haruki’s head.

Two hours later, Haruki believes he’s not a kid anymore. He’s broken, a pile of goo on the floor beside the court. Konoha lies somewhere in the same fashion, whatever words he’s trying to pronounce coming out in the goo-like blubber of their current speech-ability. Washio, who had been their last man standing, sits against the wall, needing the cold support of the brick. All around Haruki there’s heavy breathing, legs only moving to find a space to simply be or drag themselves out to the water basins near the gyms. 

Hasegawa laughs, near the exit, but doesn’t make them move. From outside there’s more sounds of suffering, the basketball team’s practice ending with a run. The word is a mere concept in Haruki’s head, who, after all the matches were done, was assigned to receiving duty for the club’s 50 serves practice. Anyone who aspired to be a defensive specialist or who was already really good at serving had stood next to him on the backline, receiving one ball after the other. The goal had been to make them arc back into the ball basket, but apart from Sakamoto and some lucky receives on Haruki’s side, they mostly flew everywhere or bounced back over the net hence they came. 

Haruki did so many slides that he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. His thighs are burning, screaming. In the end, he didn’t get to play with Sarukui, a damn shame on one side, a present from heaven on the other. While Haruki had won a few sets with Washio and Konoha, or being paired up with Bokuto, towards the end things had become harder and harder. He’s never had this much sweat layering from his neck to the lower back. His forearms were sporting bruises already, just another colour differentiation along the angry redness that spread beneath. In the last set, Haruki couldn’t move his arms in time, and received with his thigh. It somehow didn’t go out of bounds, but flew to a third year setter, who praised Haruki as if he’d done it on purpose. Just another bruise to be proud of tomorrow.

“I’m dead.” Are the first real words from Konoha. “I can’t move. I’m fucking dead.”

“Language, blondie.” Ito spits, mops in hand. “And get the hell up off the floor you maggots. If I see a drop of your filthy sweat anywhere, you keep on mopping! Now, here, I bought them to you like a fucking saint that I am. Get to work.” 

Haruki didn’t think he could move just yet. He sees Washio staggering to stand, knees wobbly. Bokuto comes into view, steps over their would-be corpses, his ‘yes, sir’ of low energy. Konoha might be begging. Haruki doesn’t think he can manage, until a sweet smile blocks out the harsh light from above. Sarukui gives him a hand, and Haruki cannot refuse. The touch is warm, unstable, and Sarukui has to use another hand to get Haruki up to a standing position. He won’t let him go to Konoha, being selfish and jealous, and so Haruki kicks Konoha’s shoulder himself. Then he mimics the kindness given to him, and helps Konoha up. 

Mop in hand, they follow their leader, Bokuto, whose energy levels slowly return to normal. He gives them a grave look.

“Listen, don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about the burn, the arche, the-”

“How about you don’t remind us, then!” Konoha bites back, leaning on the mop. 

“-think about ice cream. After this, we should all go and get some! As a reward for our hard work.” Bokuto nods to himself, as if they’d all done a superb job, just like him. “We do this quickly, say our greetings, change clothes with the speed of light, and then go to the convenience store directly at the front gates for ice cream. Think about the freshness, the coolness. Let’s go!”

His words work wonders. They spread out over the large gym, newly energized legs sprinting, mopping, no one flailing once. Even the people who aren’t used to volleyball practice, the hierarchy, the cleaning; move fast, new life in their eyes. They finish cleaning up without incurring the wrath of Ito, and the clean gymnasium looks absolutely gorgeous to Haruki. 

Bokuto talks to one of the third years on their way out. The club room is too small to fit in the entire club, so like all first years, they gather their stuff from the sidelines and change right then and there. Pulling his shirt over his head, he feels the arch below his armpits, stretching out over his ribs and the back of his shoulders. He doesn’t allow for a sound to go past his lips. 

“You look pretty bruised up.” Sarukui mentions, as if he just noticed. Haruki grins. 

“I’ve gotten so used to them. It’s so weird to see them again after the absence. Weird to feel them again.” Haruki waits until Sarukui is done changing as well, and they follow Washio, who stands at the exit, out of the gymnasium. Some of the third years stay behind, to talk, to analyze, and at least one of them whistles as he twirls the keys in his fingers. Most of the second years are already gone, while the first years make their way across campus. 

The promise of ice cream isn’t what makes everyone actually go. Crossing the front yard, a lot of the first years say their goodbyes at the gate, saying they’d rather go home faster than linger. It depletes Bokuto’s spirits, who sees one after the other wave their apologies. He tries to pull as much people along but no one really has any power in their legs. When it seems that most have left or are leaving, Bokuto rounds up on them.

“But you guys will come?”

Washio nods, and before Konoha can get out of it, he’s given the stare of a lifetime. Konoha, under loud protest as if this is too much to ask, is the first out of the gate and headed towards the convenience store. 

“Alright alright alright, I’ll go if you guys go, sheesh!” 

Bokuto stretches his arms up above his head, hands small fists. “Yahoo, nice!”

Haruki can see Sarukui’s legs shaking. For a second he’s afraid Sarukui will bail out at last. The smile on his face looks tired, the brows are low. Nonetheless, he smiles after Bokuto, and then looks at Haruki. “Shall we follow, then?”

This smile revives Haruki more than any cold beverage or promise of ice cream could. They go the same way as Konoha and Bokuto, who are already in the store, and Washio waits for them to follow before he goes inside himself. The convenience store’s air-conditioning is a lovely breeze on Haruki’s neck, and they soon locate the other club members at the frozen goods section. Here it is even cooler, a welcome experience while Haruki decides what to buy. 

Once they all have their desired “rewards”, as Bokuto called them, they follow the bouncy first year to a bunch of nearby benches where they can sit down to enjoy their treats. Haruki busies himself spooning at the lemon sorbet in a cup, while Sarukui lowers his body in a loud ‘thump’ next to him, letting the Magnum rest on his forehead for a few seconds before opening it. For a moment, no one says a thing while the sunset, which had started a while earlier, darkens their surroundings. It’s not cold at all, and a perfect time to consume bits and pieces of their ice cream. 

Haruki, a fast eater who loved brain freeze, suffers a new episode and throws his cup away. He makes a mental note to eat more slowly next time, as Sarukui is a super slow enjoyer of his own goods. While the eyes are closed in bliss, Haruki’s are wide open, watching Sarukui’s pretty mouth lower itself over the Magnum (the classic version, which Haruki always thought was kind of sensual). The soft bite breaking the chocolate shell goes together with the vanilla ice spreading in slow moving drops. Some of them come to stick at Sarukui’s fingers, who licks the desserts away, his tongue slow in an appreciative manner.

Willing his thoughts to think of something else, Haruki hates how appreciative his crotch is at the view. As Sarukui opens his eyes to look at him, Haruki glances away, his ears red. 

“Want a bite?”

“E-eh?” Haruki’s head spins back, the dripping Magnum held on in front of his face. He stares at the tip, void of chocolate. Before his brain can come out of another, not ice cream-induced freeze, a heavy weight spreads itself over his back, pushing him down.

“I want!” Bokuto yells, his own frozen good not even finished. 

Haruki has to fight Bokuto off, who gets scolded by Konoha. Sarukui backs away from the display on his bench, Magnum back to his own mouth. Once Bokuto is off him (pouting like a child), Haruki can breath again. He looks at Sarukui, who seems in two minds about sharing or offering to share. Was he just offered an indirect kiss!? Haruki can’t hardly think about what could have just happened here, as he follows Sarukui’s line of sight. 

Washio is offering parts of his ice cream (holding it himself) to Bokuto, who happily tastes away, his own cup of frozen yogurt and blueberries still unfinished in his hand. He even gets Konoha to switch ice creams for a quick taste. When Haruki has nothing to offer, the latter looks back at Sarukui, whose eating habits are now more plain, and less sexual than before. They might never have been erotic in the first place, and it was all just Haruki’s dirty mind corrupting the image.

“Ah man, I’m still bummed not more people came.” Bokuto laments, his styled hair looking droopy and in low spirits. He and Konoha talk about today’s performances, while Washio leans back, listening in. He sometimes nods behind Bokuto’s back, unseen. Once they’re all finished and their garbage thrown away, they get up, bags slung over shoulders (or in Konoha’s case, hanging off his head) and walk to the main road. 

“You guys here by train?” Bokuto asks, pointing into the direction of his own station. Washio nods, but points the other way. Konoha notices he has to go the same way, but needs the train in another direction. “Saru-kun, Komi-kun, where do you two live?”

“My grandparents house is reachable by bike and train but, I walked today. My grandfather couldn’t find a lock and didn’t want my bike to be stolen.” Sarukui rubs the back of his head as he talks about his grandfather’s worries, and Haruki can’t help but find it an adorable display. Konoha laughs, saying their bike racks aren’t really the place of dreams for thieves, and that Sarukui should convince his grandparents of that fact.

“Me, too.” Washio says out of nowhere, towering behind them. Bokuto, surprised and laughing, points at him.

“You speak! You hardly said anything at all today. Even the senpai say you’re really silent. And what do you mean, ‘me too’?” Bokuto asks in rapid speed. 

“I live with my grandfather.” Washio says, not really looking at anyone. Although it’s intriguing to know why, Haruki senses that this is all Washio feels like sharing today. Together with Konoha, they shove Bokuto on his way to his own station, to leave the ‘getting to know each other’ part for another day.

“It’s late, and we already went on your ice cream run.” Konoha says with a final shove, then joining Washio to walk the other way. “See you guys tomorrow! And Bokuto-kun, don’t be late.”

Bokuto, walking backwards, sputters. “How!? Gah, I’m never late, stupid.” He puts his finger below one eye, pulling it down as he sticks out his tongue. “Stupid, Konoha-kun you’re stupid! How about you save your breath and rest up because I’m going to win against you tomorrow as well.”

Although they’re parting more and more (Washio actually pulling Konoha along as he returns Bokuto’s remarks), they keep on bantering. Haruki is left with Sarukui to laugh about it, before they make their own way. It’s not as if they actually share a road, but Haruki doesn’t tell Sarukui that until he’s too far out from his station.

“See you tomorrow, I guess.” Haruki smiles, feeling sheepish. Sarukui nods and waves, turning around to stuff his hands in his pockets as he walks home. 

Backtracking his steps out of sight, Haruki waits until he rounds a corner, before he slaps his cheeks. 

“Pull yourself together dude. Can’t fall in love with your clubmate.”

Of course, by the time Haruki is back home, he only thought about Sarukui. The images of his permanent smile, how eats his ice cream in a seducing way, offering a bite to Haruki, the way he says ‘Komi’. When Haruki enters his house, the tired ‘I’m home’ is only a small indicator of his new-found woes. He knows it's a lost battle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “They’ve gotta be fucking joking…” Konoha breathes low enough for only Haruki and Washio to hear. Bokuto is already warming up, his excitement high after getting off the bus and hearing about what they’re supposed to do. Stopping at a restroom, told to change into their running gear, the club is dropped off and told to run towards the mountain ahead of them. It should have taken the bus 2 hours to drive, yet they’re standing outside of the air-condition vehicle an half hour too early. Mount Odake looms ahead of them all. Although it is three times smaller than Fuji, it doesn’t take away how impressive and tall it looks from their viewpoint.
> 
> Komi has come to terms with how bad he has it for Sarukui, trying to be super cool in front of him and showing off. He also tries to play excellent volleyball, cheer up his teammates, while keeping his emotions in check. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Training camp chapter! Prepare for lots and lots of volleyball, training, exercises.. oh and running :D I loooved writing the team bonding moments (I make it hard for Konoha my sweet boy). 
> 
> Oh, and also? Hair. I had so much fun writing the morning routine.
> 
> Hope this is enjoyable to read~~~

Haruki notices interesting things about four of his new friends within a couple of weeks. Konoha isn’t particularly jealous of others, but his face sours whenever he can’t do something as well as others. He has all sorts of weaknesses, but never stops trying until he’s satisfied. Washio, for all his height, is actually shy. Although he stares people down as if he wanted to pick a fight with them, his words, if they come out at all, are gentle and subdued. Bokuto is a machine. He keeps harassing the third and second year setters to toss for him. Most of them tire out too fast for his liking. It isn’t that they don’t like Bokuto, but they can’t keep up with his unmatchable energy. 

Sarukui’s smile isn’t actually a smile because he’s in a good mood. It’s just the way his lips are formed. Haruki notices it when Sarukui says less than pleasant things about others, or about homework, or whenever he gives his red plums a rueful look. There are other things about his face that change according to how he feels, and Haruki, as he’s constantly watching, notices the subtle things. 

All of this comes together one evening, when Bokuto’s go-to setters are gone. When he notices Washio, he comes running up to where he and Konoha are cleaning, a proposal rushing from his lips.

“Block for me!”

“H-hey, don’t just say stuff like that. We’re cleaning right now!” Konoha says, stomping the mop on the ground and splashing residue water off their feet. “We can’t just stay here-”

“I asked the coach AND Hasegawa-senpai and they said it’s fine as long as we clean up. They’re both staying for some sort of meeting, so we have an extra half hour. Come on, let’s go! You can block too, Konoha. Saru, how’s your tossing? Set for me! Komi can go wherever for receives. _Come on_ , we only have thirty extra minutes!”

Under loud protests, Konoha protects Washio from being shoved backwards into the net, which still hangs there. It had been Bokuto’s duty to take it down. The rest of the gym empties out, leaving only a few first years behind. “Don’t listen to him, Washio-kun. The idiot is crazy. Listen, not everyone has your kind of energy, alright!?”

“Alright, I’ll do it.” Washio says, setting the mop aside. Bokuto, jumping in happiness, turns to find a ball. Konoha stares after Washio, then at Sarukui and Haruki. 

“What the-”

“Don’t you want to become better? First string tryouts are next week.” Washio says to him, shutting up all protest Konoha had ready. It wasn’t just the most words Washio had spoken at once today, they were also true; Haruki left whatever he was supposed to be doing, grinning when he joins Bokuto’s side of the net, who is already busy spiking the ball from the palm of his hand to the floor. Washio is right; they can improve only so many things in such a short amount of time. No one wants to be left on the second string after coming here, after all. 

Sarukui sighs, his brows drooping to the sides. It’s a sort of defeated gesture when he walks towards the net as well, with his shoulders hunched forward. As a foreboding of ‘being left behind in second string’, and the wish not to, Konoha quickly closes the gap between the rest of them and himself, running ahead of Sarukui to join Washio on the other side of the net, ready to block.

Bokuto’s eagerness to practice pales after one look at Washio. His eyes become fiery whenever he’s at the front of the net, his hands already raised and in perfect formation. Konoha still keeps his hands spread too far apart, which often results in his fingers not having enough power to hold back a powerful spike. 

Haruki stands behind the three meter line, ready to rock and roll. He grins at Sarukui, who tosses a few balls above his head, trying to get the right feeling in his fingertips. During training, they all had to practice overhand serves against the wall. The first years didn’t quite understand whether they were practicing tossing or overhand receiving. Bokuto, bored with the exercise, had spiked the ball a few times after a single toss up, then had to do a penalty lap around the court. He now stands to the side full of patience, nodding when the ball doesn’t fall off Sarukui’s fingers even once. 

Catching the ball between his palms, Sarukui isn’t pleased yet. His brows furrow and he gives Haruki a look that speaks of self-doubt and worry. Haruki smiles, which probably looks on his face like a grin, and gives his friends a thumbs-up.

“I’m right behind you, Sarukkun. It will be alright.” 

“Yes, let’s do this!” Bokuto proclaims right after, jumping from side to side on his tip toes, eyes to the net and the two blockers waiting on the other side. 

Sarukui throws the ball above his head and their extra session begins.

*~*~*

“Wait a second, I need to cool my head.” Haruki says to Washio, as he opens the tap full throttle before lowering his head beneath the stream. The cool water is a blessing to his neck. It’s the middle of April, an unusually hot Thursday evening burns them all down. Their captain makes them all take a lot of water breaks. 

“You two do really well, Washio, Komi.” Sakamoto appears at their side, as he speaks to them during one of such breaks. Half the club is outside to get some fresh air, leaking out of the gymnasiums. Done wetting his neck and arms, Haruki looks up while he lets the cold stream cool down his hands. Washio stands next to him, their conversation about block follows and soft blocks coming to a stand still. Washio’s head lowers when he is spoken to. Haruki thanks his senpai, who has done a lot of receiving drills this week; Haruki has bruises all over his forearm, and he adores every single one of them. Sakamoto, still smiling, looks at Washio once more, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come after 10 seconds of complete silence. Smiling more widely, he waves with two fingers, then leaves them alone again.

Once he’s close to the entrance doors of one of the gyms, Washio opens his mouth.

“Anyway, wouldn’t soft blocks be harder to receive when the block goes off one hand instead of the innermost fingertips? How do you judge in a split second where the ball will go? I want to make it easier for the backline.” Washio resumes their talk as if their senior hadn’t interrupted them. He takes a sip of his water bottle, waiting for Haruki to answer. 

“It’s an instinct and reaction thing, isn’t it? Plain gut-feeling from doing it often. If you’d be good enough to direct the path from a soft block to the back line, you should be good enough to just kill block the opponent straight away.” Haruki says as they walk back. He had noticed that Washio is still shy around others, but he speaks just fine to the four of them. Lately, Bokuto hadn’t been harassing the second and third year setters anymore, as he made them, plus Sarukui and Konoha, stay late every day they had practice. 

One of such times, he had told Konoha and Haruki that the current setters would be coming for extra practice to him once he’s a regular, so he only needed to chill out until then. Bokuto’s certainty that he would get a starting position had made Konoha angry. 

Haruki had to remind Konoha that Bokuto was one of the few people who had been scouted to make Fukuroudani strong, so his confidence wasn’t baseless. Nonetheless, first string tryouts were this weekend, and all the way from the first to the third years, people were tense and working hard for the top spots. Haruki knew that a starting position wasn’t a reachable goal for him; Sakamoto didn’t deserve it just as a third year, he just had more experience than Haruki. He knew the third and second years well, and was on good terms with all of them. He knew their habits. There was no chance for Haruki to even try and become better than him in only a few weeks time. 

Nonetheless, being on the bench wouldn’t hurt. There was only one other libero in his second year, and he hadn’t played at all during Fukuroudani’s official matches. Haruki wasn’t afraid of him at all, and catching up to that guy was at least something he could aim for by the end of the summer. 

They exchange their outdoor shoes for their volleyball ones at the door. Haruki can smell Washio’s eagerness to train, and Haruki pulls in Sarukui to stand with them. Tonight, Ito is supposed to make the teams for individual drills, and Haruki had noticed he’d put people who stand close together in the same group, out of easiness’ sake. Haruki prides himself on being able to touch Sarukui without his brain melting, and they talk about courses and how to make receiving easier if you can’t straight out block the other side.

Ito stands ready, looking at the whole lot of them as if, apart from the third years, they’re all wusses. Before he can begin the divide however, their advisor, Asada, steps forward. His announcement concerns the first and second string division, which will be decided during an upcoming camp instead of this weekend. 

The noisiness level around Haruki rises in an instant. While he keeps his mouth shut, and while Washio stares to the ground and to Sarukui, the seniors protest. Asada shushes them, while Ito glares at everyone still talking. “I know, I know, but it was decided that we should get to know the first years better before we make a decision. As you may have noticed, we have some excellent first years in addition to the second years who have grown rapidly in the past half year. As such, we want to make the best possible decision, and for this, more time is needed. The training camp will be our school’s alone, and not only does it focus on training and your abilities, but also should serve as an outing to get to know each other better, especially the first years.”

Haruki, who, as a short person, always likes to stand in front, feels the heat of a few angry glares at the back of his neck. Washio’s ears have a slight tint under his tan, and Sarukui rubs his neck as if he shares Haruki’s burden. Konoha is nowhere to be seen, while Bokuto beams. He gives Haruki the thumbs up, then points at the three of them, himself, and gestures with his thumb towards where Konoha is hiding behind him. 

_We are those excellent first years._ Bokuto smiles, then looks back when Asada resumes. 

The rest is about parental allowance slips to be handed out later, and the exact time and date of the camp. Asada leaves out their destination, adding a mysterious note to it when he finishes. Once he and the coach retreat out of the court, Ito comes forward. 

“Okay, maggots. You all wanna be the best and all that nonsense, so let’s get to it!” Ito divides the groups, and as predicted, Haruki ends up together with those he stands closest to. One of the third years brushes past Sarukui and pushes him towards Haruki, whose irritation at the senior doesn’t rise when his cheek, the side of his arm, and his foot, come in close contact as Sarukui presses into him. The senior apologizes for his briskness, joining Ito’s team. While Haruki’s anger should rise in his throat, all he feels is his own loud heartbeat when Sarukui doesn’t flinch away from him at once.

Practice is going to be _fun_.

*~*~*

“Ah man. I was looking forward to this weekend.” Bokuto mopes around as he locks up the gym they used post practice. He then gives Washio the keys, the single person Hasegawa trusted to not lose them and be on time for morning practices on Friday mornings. Knowing for a fact that Washio has a tendency of being late rather than early, he hands the keys to Sarukui, whose punctuality has become well known through their little sub-team. 

“Yeah, I thought we’d only do the Fukuroudani Group practices. I didn't expect such a random one at the beginning of the school year.” Konoha says, his hands in his pockets and his jacket slung over his bag. Once Sarukui secures the key in his bag, they leave at last. Haruki has his hands linked behind his head, staying closer to Bokuto and Konoha than to Sarukui. He has had his fair share of accidental touches today, most of them initiated by Sarukui’s kindness and concern. Receiving today was a hell, as Ito’s team and those of other second years were vicious against the first years.

It wasn’t anger at them or trying to hurt them. The message was clear: if you want to aim high, you have to give it your all or get lost. The second year senpai in particular wouldn’t just stand aside and let the slightly younger generation take all the good spots for themselves. The competition was tough, but Haruki couldn’t dislike it. The harder the practice, the more rapid his progress would be. He too had looked forward to the first string tryouts, but the changes were just as well. 

As soon as Bokuto’s mood deflated, it increased. After all, they were given a free time from school to have this longer weekend full of volleyball. The training camp lasts three days, starting Thursday evening and goes until Sunday night, meaning they are freed from school.

“They will add a lot of running sequences. I’m sure they want to test everyone’s endurance, to try and tire us out through running before the plays.” Washio notes. Konoha grins at Bokuto, smelling a challenge; when they were doing road work, Haruki has gotten himself entangled in a competition between him, Bokuto, and Konoha. Although Konoha lacks the lung power, and Haruki lacks the leg length, they still try to compete with Bokuto. The latter even has the audacity to talk in the middle of all the runs, and often speeds ahead of them. 

As they’re headed to the front gate, their conversation changes to where this special camp will be held. There’s a lot of locations everyone knows from previous training camps or holiday outings. Even though they will not be able to enjoy the views or have a full nature experience as they’re not going to be given a lot of free time, excitement levels rise. All except Sarukui’s. 

A hint of pride, which Haruki has to subdue when he speaks, wells up inside of him as he notices Sarukui’s worried look, apparent on his features. He’s still the only one who can tell Sarukui’s faces apart, even though his lips always look they’re happy about something.

“What’s up, Saru?” Haruki asks as they cross the front court yard, gate in sight. Whatever it is, he has high hopes of making Sarukui feel less worried before they say their goodbyes. 

“Asada-san. He specified it was because of the first years they couldn’t make a clearer division yet.” Sarukui comes to a stand still. “We’re already bothersome for staying behind every time. Maybe they think it’s us who are holding everything up. Don't you think the senpai will be pissed at us? ”

“Will? Will!? Sarukui, they already _are_. I was surrounded by them and Bokuto lacks the decency to act shy about it or hide his smiles! They all think we’re gonna steal their positions.” Konoha fumes, then he points at Haruki. “Not you, of course. Everyone knows you’re not up to Sakamoto-senpai’s level yet.”

“Gee, thanks. Also, indeed; _yet_.” Haruki grins back, all teeth; his eyes on fire. Before Konoha can say something else, Washio makes an attempt to calm everyone down. 

“It's been Fukuroudani’s strength to create their teams focused on the third years, if they were skilled. Asada-san’s words were probably coordinated with the coach and Hasegawa-senpai, to light a fire under the older generation and make them work harder. We all know of the habit of taking at least one promising first year onto the team. A second one comes as far as the bench.” Washio finishes, and they all look at Bokuto. Once again, Bokuto knows no restraint in holding back his happiness, and he beams back at them. His half-lidded eyes look sly. 

“I don’t think so. You know, I was glad when I befriended you guys. My mom always said I have a good nose for strong people, or at least people who have the desire to become stronger. Obviously the extra practice we’ve been doing lately is the reason the coaches can’t make a decision yet. We’re showing them our willingness to put in extra work, while the senpais leave. It basically comes down to who wants it more, and who wants to work harder for it.” He grins a thousand watt smile, one hand on Sarukui, the other on Konoha. “Don’t worry about it! No one will hate you when you win the matches. That’s all that matters.” 

“You think winning is all that matters?” Washio asks, suspicion in his voice. Bokuto points at him, shaking his head.

“No, but it will soften their hearts when we do.” He turns around, walking ahead, leaving them all speechless. Haruki hadn’t thought he was bad or worthless, or that a lower aim shows weakness. Bokuto said ‘we’ in a way that didn’t mean Fukuroudani in general, but just the people who were here and who were listening to him. It wasn’t just a matter for him to get in the team, but to drag them all along on the joyful ride. Haruki knew of his limitations, but also knew of his appetite to become better at everything. And Bokuto appreciated it; knew he would get there. Even had faith in all of them.

Sarukui sighs. “How can he say embarrassing stuff without becoming red in the face?” 

“And he doesn’t care about the repercussions of anything. God.” Konoha joins in, hands in his pockets and brows furrowed, still contemplating what Bokuto had said. Before they could get called out by him, they start moving, following the boy with the bright future, of in which they may have a part.

*~*~* 

“They’ve gotta be fucking joking…” Konoha breathes low enough for only Haruki and Washio to hear. Bokuto is already warming up, his excitement high after getting off the bus and hearing about what they’re supposed to do. Stopping at a restroom, told to change into their running gear, the club is dropped off and told to run towards the mountain ahead of them. It should have taken the bus 2 hours to drive, yet they’re standing outside of the air-condition vehicle an half hour too early. Mount Odake looms ahead of them all. Although it is three times smaller than Fuji, it doesn’t take away how impressive and tall it looks from their viewpoint. 

Washio’s prediction of running was no joke. There’s no telling Bokuto to conserve his energy for the long distance run, and he’s already up to speed with their captain, engaging him in small talk. For once, Konoha and Haruki stay behind with Sarukui, who is a little slower than them all, and Washio, who thinks clearly and has his head held high.

Haruki doesn’t allow himself to check the distances or to whine. He’s solely focused on the backs before him, on the mind-numbing sound of a mass of feet stomping the asphalt as they run forward. His brain switches off anything that creates a distraction, and he keeps his pace the same as Sarukui’s, not even for any reason the heart could offer. Every so often, he dares to look up ahead, observing how much closer their are to Mount Odake. A small suspicion enters his head, and as if connected, Konoha asks the question out loud.

“Have you ever been here for a training camp before?” Konoha asks, giving up some of his lung capacity. A second year middle blocker named Himura turns his head, replying they haven’t. After all, the longer Fukuroudani Group practice was held at Shinzen, one of the schools which owned a bathing facility, allowing them to stay longer than a few days or during weekends. This was new territory for all of them.

Behind Haruki, Sarukui sighs. His worries of the wrath of the senpai still linger in his head, and Haruki has a feeling Sarukui tries to run behind Washio in an attempt to hide. A hard, resolute feeling resounds in Haruki’s chest, and he makes a mental note to talk to Sarukui once they are alone up in the mountains. It wouldn’t do of Sarukui doesn’t give his all during camp these days as he tries to stay low-key and unassuming. 

“Hey,” falling behind to be elbow to elbow -or, well, elbow to shoulder- Haruki nods at Sarukui. “You good?”

Sarukui nods, sweat running down his temple. An unseen person at the front comments how the first years are smiling now. Konoha holds back Haruki by hissing at him when he tries to run forward, and Washio puts a physical barrier, his arm, in front of Haruki’s chest to make him not find out who said that.

Right on time, Bokuto erupts into loud laughter at the front. He lowers his pace at the side, then joins in with them. 

“We’re almost there! I just saw the bus stopping ahead of us.”

“Probably for refreshments. Or timing. Or, or,” Konoha breathes hard, catching his breath. “Or making sure we didn’t lose anyone.”

Bokuto looks behind them. “Doesn’t seem that way. You guys are faster than most.” 

Haruki blinks, but doesn’t take a peek. He hadn’t noticed the decrease of people at the front. Most of the third years were there, running at an easy pace. But most of the second years were definitely behind them. They would know more about this particular training camp of dividing the A and B teams, but surely the ‘running to the mountain’ part had taken them all by surprise. Haruki couldn’t drop the bad feeling he had. Maybe they weren’t conserving their own energy enough? 

“You think they’re just slow or…” He asks Washio, whose stare he felt during his contemplation. Washio doesn’t know for sure either; his answer isn’t immediate. Nevertheless, running more slowly wouldn’t be a bad idea. Konoha’s lungs weren’t going to last all the way.

“Komi-kun, do you think we should slow down a lil’?”

“Yeah, let’s.” Haruki said, and they did it as invisibly as possible. Konoha didn’t say anything (he couldn’t, he was too out of breath), and he didn’t smile either. Bokuto’s upset face didn’t make them change their minds. Instead he dropped his pace once again, staying around them.

They get to the bus Bokuto mentioned before, but no one slows down at the front. Hasegawa doesn’t make them stop, and they just run past it. One of Konoha’s notions were right; Haruki sees Asada holding a timer, and one of the first years managers, Shirofuku, writes on a notepad whenever his mouth opens. Now Haruki wished they would have kept up the higher pace until after, but then they’d surely lose Konoha on the way. It wasn’t just Bokuto’s grand words of the other evening and all this ‘we’ talk; Haruki felt it too. These guys were special, and they were worth it sticking around, even if it meant losing a few seconds of run time. 

Past the bus, the second year's speed up and run on either side of them, until they’re up front again. Haruki notices two third years dropping the other way. 

“Don’t let it get to you. As long as we have energy for later, that’s all that matters.” Washio says when it’s just the five of them, and he clasps Konoha’s shoulder when the other is looking to the ground instead of ahead to the road or the mountain. 

At the base of the Mount Odake, the real challenge seems to start. They follow signs that lead up to a certain lodging, and Hasegawa laughs that they’re not far off. The climb isn’t steep, but any sort of incline at this point is a small form of torture. Nonetheless, no one gives up, and after only ten more minutes, Hasegawa calls whoever is close to him to a halt.

Haruki has no time in appreciating making it, to look around the vast nature, to listen to all the animals or to feel the lovely breeze tickling the nape of his neck. All that falls to a sort of background noise when Sarukui removes his shirt and falls face first to the grass. Konoha is long gone, out for the count on his back, staring to the blue skies visible between the leaves and tree branches above him. He might as well see nothing. Haruki can’t help him though, as his center of attention becomes a lean back, few moles scattered across it, and pearls of sweat at delicate places. Haruki can’t become the moth to the flame, yet his feet, throbbing, numb, thoughtless, walk towards where Sarukui lies. 

“Are you alright? Saru-”

“Once you guys are rested up, you can help bring out the beverages. There’s quite a lot of sports drinks and they’re too heavy for the managers to carry.” Someone calls out, but Haruki doesn’t let himself get distracted. 

He crouches near Sarukui, who waves him, or a persistent fly, off around his ear. Enthralled, he lets his hand reach out to pat the soft, black hair, matting it against Sarukui’s skull. The latter gets up at last, and, although he swats Haruki’s hand away, it’s not ill-meant.

“Don’t… I’m sticky all over.” Sarukui breathes to the grass, while Haruki smiles that he’s not dead yet. His brain has nothing particular brilliant to add except, _I don’t mind…_

Washio waits for everyone to get up, Bokuto standing next to him. When Konoha doesn’t move on his own, the two of them help him stand. Bokuto says they can’t make the managers do all the hardcore lifting, so they all go inside. Sarukui is once more dressed, and Haruki’s distractions come to a halt. 

The thrill of being here makes them move. The first years help bringing out crates of multi-flavoured sports drinks, and Hasegawa allows them to have their first pick. Everyone is a good mood, except those who arrive later. Standing aside to let everyone reach the much-needed refreshments, the five of them retire to the shade of a large tree, sighing in happiness. 

If Konoha is half-dead on the inside, he makes sure to not say anything about it or show it. Good move, as they cannot allow themselves to show any weaknesses. 

“We lost a lot of them at the base of the mountain.” Washio comments as the last load of people arrive, half running, half descending to the ground. The bus comes up behind them, the coaches and managers jumping out. The first years finish their drinks and put them in plastic bags, promptly made to collect everyone’s trash. Before Konoha or Bokuto can mope around, Shirofuku comes to their aid, helping out and carrying most of the trash bags out of sight.

Once she returns to the third and second year’s managers’ side, headcoach Yamiji clears his throat for attention. He explains the general rules for staying here, times for breakfast, lunch, dinner, bathtimes, and final lockdown. The running didn’t end by reaching the mountain either, and they’re supposed to do runs before breakfast each and every morning. At last, he announces the teams in which they will train for better part of today, and the assessment that follows after. No one dares to be boisterous when their coach speaks, even if an assessment this early seems outrageous.

Haruki saw it coming, however. Of course they’d be tested out from day one, and he can see how the first examination of endurance, how it may influence skills and plays, is of great importance. He can feel Bokuto bouncing on the balls of his feet, Konoha grinning at his side, and Washio standing up straighter than usual. They’re all excited to get started, unable to wait a second longer to finally pull up the nets and warm up their shoulders. 

Even Sarukui seems ridden of all his previous guilt and concerns, smiling at Haruki in a way that makes knees go weak and the brain a giant mess of fuzzy feelings. 

“That’s all. The group managers will have a tentative team distribution based on the run today, should be 12 in total. Training starts now!”

*~*~*

The first day is hard, but not as hard as Haruki expected it to be. The feeling he had earlier on the road is completely gone. Once they start training, he doesn’t feel beat up or tired at all. 

He sees everything more clearly, too. Doing that extra half hour after practice and standing behind either Bokuto and Sarukui or Washio and Konoha for the drills makes playing with a full team seem a piece of cake. Even more, he’s playing with Bokuto and Washio in one team with two third years and one second year. It’s not perfect, but he knows more of Bokuto’s habits than the rest. And although Washio’s blocks aren’t always perfect, when a ball goes past him or off of a one-touch, it’s easy for Haruki to receive them.

It’s impossible to pinpoint where it comes from, but his body moves better. He can predict spike paths, and whenever a spike is countered by a block, Haruki is lightning quick to pick it up. His dives are better than last month already, and although his flat hand isn’t up to the standard he wants, the ball doesn’t go out of bounds from his body at all. 

He checks on Konoha and Sarukui on the court to the left. The resort here has two gyms, both reserved for the volleyball club, and each has two courts side by side. It’s more cramped than at home, but also cosy. There is always one extra team at each court that isn’t playing. They’re divided as referees, counting scores, while the larger part is meant to keep track of the other teams, under supervision of the coaches and managers. His two friends do pretty well, especially in combination when they’re either both at the net or both on the back lines. Konoha’s serves aren’t powerful, but they mess up the other team’s rhythm. Lacking a setter, Sarukui volunteered to set, and his tosses are surprisingly good. He spikes a few times as well when a third year tosses for him. When none of that happens, Sarukui dumps a ball out of nowhere on the other court, easy.

“Yes! Sarukui, nice one!” Konoha yells, running up to Sarukui to high five him. 

Haruki smiles, happy that they are doing well. On his part, the whistle blows, and he watches Washio try a jump serve. It fails and the ball falls into the net, Washio apologizing loudly to all of them. 

“You’ll get it the next time.” Haruki smiles, giving him a low five in addition to his encouragement. 

In the late afternoon they have a one hour break to eat rice balls, and the three if them meet up with Konoha and Sarukui to sit outside under the tree and enjoy the sustenance. 

“Aaah, I feel so good! It’s like I can do spikes all day.” Bokuto breathes out, pieces of rice sticking to the sides of his mouth. Konoha is disgusted, but focuses rather on what Bokuto just said.

“Dummy, you’re supposed to. We’re not stopping until it’s night time, I think.”

 

And they don’t. It’s past 7 o’clock when Yamiji tells them to round it up and clean it all. The sun is almost gone, leaving the prettiest colours outside on the horizon. The first years in the first gym are told to collect all the balls and mop up, while the senpai do the rest. The mood between them doesn’t drop. Haruki feels like he could still go on. Konoha seems a lot more refreshed post-practice than post-running, and Sarukui’s and Bokuto’s good moods are affecting even Washio’s face, who smiles with them.

Done with cleaning, they’re the last ones to head outside, walking into a round of groans.

“What’s happening?” Bokuto asks the closest person.

“Drills! After all this, still-”

Hasegawa repeats what they’re going to do before they’re finally allowed to cool down. The drills outside consist of short, high speed runs, crunches, push ups, rope jumping, and planks. The timing schedule for each seems oddly familiar, and Washio voices where Haruki had heard of it before.

“One minute, two minutes, three minutes, and then back to two and one. It’s a high intensity training.” Washio explains to Konoha, who doesn’t look forward to that one minute of running. Nonetheless, they get in starting position and do it. Every time their coach claps, they change from running to crunches, from crunches to push ups. Haruki has the most fun with the latter, grinning at Washio whose arms make him rise up the highest. After that, the rope jumping is a breeze, and he finds himself competing once more against Konoha and Bokuto. 

Bokuto is the loudest, as usual. He keeps challenging Konoha, running a circle around him while jumping. Konoha’s pace is insane though, even faster than Washio’s or Haruki’s. Without noticing it too much, they’re enjoying themselves while around them silence reigns.

“Final round, one minute planking! No elbows, no knees. Backs straight, asses low. And keep those abs tight.” Shirofuku proclaims so plain, having too much fun as a first year manager bossing the boys around. 

Bokuto and Konoha don’t stop talking. They’re still messing with each other on Haruki’s left side, who is grinning to his right while Sarukui laughs at them all. Washio is mute, looking ahead, a few drops of sweat running down his forehead. He blinks them all away. 

“3, 2, 1 aaand, done!” Shirofuku laughs, and most of them collapse. Others stand up, either hungry or wanting to take baths before they eat. The small group of first years are either on the ground on their knees, or standing up and laughing, helping the others up.

Haruki gives Sarukui a hand, pulling him off the grass. Sarukui wobbles a bit, patting away grass halms off his knees. “Those last 30 seconds were insane. I trembled all over.”

_I tremble all over when you smile at me._ “Heh, damn right. It’s how you know you’re training and using your abs.” Haruki grins, joining everyone heading towards the dining hall. His head is a bliss, filled with endorphins. He hears other people talking about the assessment and how well the day went for them, what they should’ve have done better. Haruki leaves his own reflection for a later time, such as in the baths. For now, he’s too happy to even think. 

*~*~*

Before they can eat, the first years and the managers ready the rooms for everyone. Lying out futons and pillows, they check that every room has the needed numbers to fit them all, then they head to eat. 

“I hope they left enough. I’m starving.” Bokuto says, and for once, Konoha agrees. They make it to the dining hall and obviously there’s enough for anyone. Konoha and Bokuto have an eating contest, while the other three take it slow for their stomach’s sake. Shirofuku joins their table, lowering herself over the top, oozing secrecy. Even Bokuto puts down his bowl to listen to what she has to tell them.

“You guys did really well! Coach Yamiji is impressed and Asada said he’d never seen such energetic first years before.” She gives them all a thumbs up before she starts eating as well, presenting an even faster pace than Bokuto. Haruki’s heart swells with pride and he gobbles down the rest of his rice, taking an extra serving of meat when it’s left on the table up for grabs. He didn’t forget about telling Sarukui he shouldn’t back down or hold back during the camp, but Sarukui doesn’t seem perturbed at all anymore. He looks perfectly content. 

They clean up after themselves, Hasegawa notifying them that the third years do the dishes today, the second years the bath, as the first years already took care of the bed situation. “We rotate the duties each day. The baths should be ready for you guys in a bit. Also, well done.”

Konoha and Bokuto race to the baths, and Washio is right behind them. Sarukui and Haruki walk a little slower, mostly because Sarukui’s pace sets it for Haruki. They reach the baths, but before that, Sarukui grabs Haruki’s arm. 

His face changed drastically. “Komi-kun, I don’t feel so good.”

“Huh?” The rest is already gone. Haruki hears Bokuto entering the baths in his loudest way possible. There’s no one else around them, and Sarukui walks sideways to the toilets instead. Worried, Haruki takes hold of his arm and his back, unable to allow panic the upper hand. Sarukui ate normally like him and Washio, and not too much either. Were this the aftershocks of the day? 

The worst doesn’t happen. All Sarukui seems to need is to sit down out of sight of anyone, and let his head rest against cold tiles. Haruki takes some paper and wets it, crouching low to put them on Sarukui’s forehead. It’s not to hot, so it can’t be a fever. 

“Should I get someone or-”

“No, please don’t.” Sarukui doesn’t want to be alone or seen like this by anyone else. If Haruki’s uneasiness wouldn’t be eating him up, he’d feel some sort of happiness that Sarukui only trusts him and is able to show himself like this to Haruki only. He settles down next to him, and they stay here for a few more minutes. After a while, Sarukui stands up, thanking him. 

“Please don’t tell anyone else..?” He asks, and Haruki snorts it away, waving a hand.

“‘Course I won’t.” They walk to the baths at last, joining in late under Bokuto’s questioning. Haruki keeps a close eye on Sarukui, as they sit down in front of the shower, cleaning their bodies first before they head into the much-needed hot bath. 

They wash their hair, Sarukui humming and taking his time. Haruki keeps his glances to the absolute minimum. The sounds of the song Sarukui hums and that he likes to do on at least one occasion is filed away in Haruki’s brain to gush over later. Once they finish, the join the large tub, where only Bokuto, Konoha, and-

“Washio?”

Washio ducks his head, his whole upper body sliding down and further into the tub. His shoulder vanish below the water and with him half of his face. The rest is covered by his dark hair, wet, flat, and unstyled. Haruki hasn’t seen either Bokuto or Washio without product in their hair, but somehow Bokuto having his hair down doesn’t change his appearance as much as it changes Washio’s. 

“Right! Two totally different people.” Konoha laughs, touching his own hair, which is always as flat as theirs is right now. He looks sleek and sly about not having to style it like them. “It should have been obvious, but when I turned around and saw these two, I was completely taken aback.” 

“Heeh, you two do look different. Especially Washio-kun.” Sarukui grins as he sits down in the tub. Washio breathes out bubbles under the water, his face (whatever they can see of it) red as a tomato. Haruki wonders if he hadn’t been ready to be seen without his hair styled the usual upwards way. If he had been dreading taking baths with all of them. Bokuto says Washio had been the quickest in washing and getting into the bath as well. 

Bokuto ruffles his wet hair into Haruki’s direction. “Doesn’t look cool at all, does it? I decided to change my hair before I came to Fukuroudani, for a fresh and cool start!”

Haruki remembers that fresh start as well, yet here he sat, surrounded by a bunch of cool dudes, and having a crush on one of them. 

They’re the second to last group for the baths and when they head out, Washio covers his hair with a towel. On every other circumstance, Haruki has a feeling he, Bokuto and Konoha would have taken that towel to tease Washio. But their bond has already grown this much in the past week that when other people walk in, they let Washio speed up past them to get out. 

Once they’re away from the wet tiles, a process starts. All the boys use the blowdryer, some trying to talk over the loud noise. Bokuto bends over fully, blowing his hair dry upside down. When he stands up, his hair does too. He grins and motions Washio to do the same, and Bokuto blow dries his hair as well. He yells at him over the sounds and the ruffling of Washio’s hair.

“Step one to Awesome Hair, right!?” Bokuto laughs, while Konoha shakes his head at him and rolls his eyes. Towel around his neck, Konoha makes Sarukui leave with him. Haruki’s mouth twitches like a child’s, kind of sad to watch Sarukui go already, but they’ll meet up later.

“Don’t be late for the assessment because your goddamn hair takes so long.” Konoha says, and they’re out of the baths. Haruki also uses the blowdryer, although he doesn’t accept Bokuto’s helps for it. 

“My hair, my responsibility.”

Once they’re all done preening, they head towards the gymnasium, where they are supposed to hear the assessment of how they did on the first day. As the last group arrives and everyone settles on the floor, head coach Yamiji is flanked by one of the other coaches and the advisor, Asada. He holds a single notepad that looks a lot like Shirofuku’s, probably with neater handwriting.

 

The assessment was basically a re-grouping of the 12 teams. First the group numbers seemed random, because some of last year’s team regulars were in the lower numbered groups. Then Shirofuku joins their sides and explains it, once all their names were mentioned in the top groups. 

“See, people like the captain and vice are put there to give them hope and not overpower the top groups. The coach didn’t want to have one team of regulars winning everything and destroying all hope.” Shirofuku smiles, then conjures up an onigiri. Haruki had no idea of where or how she had been hiding it. On his other side, Bokuto nearly jumps out of his skin, but Washio keeps him grounded. The groups before had Bokuto and Washio in number 3, but they were now in number 1. Haruki, also 3, was moved to 2, same as Sarukui, who had went up from the 4th group. Konoha, who also had been in 4, went up to 3. He doesn’t seems happy about it, but Washio uses his other calming hand to congratulate him with a shoulder pat.

“Up is up.” Washio says, and Konoha nods after a few seconds of consideration. 

Once they’re done with the evaluation, they head back to where they’re supposed to sleep for the night. Konoha is beat, flopping onto the futon face first and doesn’t seem like he will move an inch away before the lights are out. At the same time, Bokuto runs around, too happy to be here, still pumped from moving up in the groups. When he doesn’t act like calming down any second, Haruki throws a pillow at him, at same time Konoha gets up to scold him.

“Is this your first time on a camp? God, you’re a kid. Get the hell to sleep!” Grumbling, Konoha re-constructs himself under the blanket, face back on the pillow. Bokuto settles on his own futon, but with his feet in his hands and his body swinging around like a daruma doll, it will be a long night. 

Washio lies down as well, and Sarukui takes a volleyball out of his bag. “How about we toss back and forth? I understand if you have loads of energy left, but we can’t create a ruckus.” 

Haruki joins in, closing the door. Every rooms seems to be full except theirs, and maybe someone stole a futon, too. It doesn’t matter to him, as he watches Sarukui and Bokuto toss to each other overhand, sitting on the ground. Sarukui is more careful in not hitting the others, and Haruki serves as a protector to the two already lying down. Washio isn’t sleeping, though, but is watching them instead. A volleyball version of counting sheep, perhaps. 

Remembering that Sarukui didn’t feel so well earlier, Haruki catches the ball mid air, under whining protest from Bokuto. He pops the ball off his forearms and into Sarukui’s bag, who claps for his skill. “Alright that’s enough. We all need our sleep and energy recharge. Tomorrow is another day.”

If his hair was still spiked the horned owl way, Bokuto’s hair might have flopped down the same way his face melted and pouted. Nonetheless, he agrees and calls it a night, lying down too. Washio extends his legs from under the blankets to kick the light switch off, then cocoons himself back in place. “Night.” 

It’s one of the last mumbles, before Haruki echoes it back to all of them, lying down on the futon next to Sarukui. He allows himself to watch him fall asleep before he closes his own eyes.

*~*~*

‘Up is up’ became the motto of the next day. It all starts with what Bokuto calls the second step to Awesome Hair. When Konoha walks into the bathroom area, toothpaste and toothbrush ready to battle, he stands still at the door, commenting a mouthed ‘oh my god’ at what he sees. 

In order of length, Washio, Bokuto and Haruki stand in a row in front of the mirror. Faces are washed, teeths are brushed, they were their dark blue Fukuroudani training shirts, and the finishing touch is added to their looks. Literally. Bokuto reaches over to where Washio left the hair wax, takes some out, and passes it on with his free hand. Haruki finishes the curls to his sides, before working on the back. Haruki watches Sarukui trying to get past Konoha, but then he also stands and stares at the display of three guys fixing their hair in what looks like a well-rehearsed ritual. 

“I didn’t know you used any product, Komi-kun.” Sarukui says, looking at Haruki by using the mirror, while Konoha stares at the back of their heads still.

Haruki grins back at him while he fluffs his coup. He feels super smooth talking to Sarukui through the mirror and looking manly as he fixes his hair to perfection. “Nope, these curls need their coconut treatment and a small dose of wax.” 

Which is promptly taken back by Bokuto, whose concentration is another level when he splits his hair evenly. Konoha laughs, and it’s not sure at whom before he speaks.

“Do you also do your eyebrows, Komi?”

“Tch, at least I have eyebrows.” Haruki’s irritation is low, if only to look good in front of Sarukui, who finally joins them at the water basin to brush his teeth. Konoha joins at the other side of Washio, the only free space. He still stares up at their hair-dos as if it’s the first time he notices that it goes up not by magic, but by taking time and care in each bang. He shakes his head at last, and starts brushing his teeth.

When the five first years are done, they head to the gym, joining in their newly formed teams. Konoha shoots a mildly sour look at Bokuto when he goes to the top one, and dissatisfied one at Sarukui who has to leave him, waving. Washio stays behind long enough to encourage Konoha to do his best for today.

They begin with the run, then have breakfast, and there they receive the schedule for today. Before they’re allowed to play volleyball, they have to find them. The groups 1 to 6 are supposed to find the balls 7-12 are going to hide for them, and vice versa afterwards. Coach Yamiji says it’s a kind of cops and robbers play in the mountains, with the additional bounty.

“Today’s focus is on teamwork; you can split up and look all around, but if you don’t communicate with your team, things will go wrong. Find a strategy that works best, and act on it. Good luck.” Yamiji tells them as groups 7-12 collect the balls they’re supposed to hide and head out into different directions. Bokuto looks at them Haruki from across the canteen, smile wide.The words were all they needed to create utter chaos in the woods.

*~*~*

Haruki finds Sarukui searching behind a bush, and finds out they’re both lost. Their group had split up in pairs into three direction, and were told to meet back at a certain white tree in half an hour. It was 25 minutes after that and they only ever found each other, no white tree in sight. 

“Help me up?” Haruki says, pointing to a tree where he thinks a ball could be hidden. Sarukui jogs over, humming ‘Up is up is up is up’ until he reaches Haruki. They laugh about Washio’s words, the motto, the mantra, the joke, and now the song. Linking his fingers and forming a platform for Haruki to step on, Sarukui propels Haruki into the air, who catches the branches and pulls himself up for a look. “No, no luck at all.” 

He stays on top for a view, but doesn’t find anything interesting or remotely helpful. Neither of them hears someone else either. Haruki jumps off the tree, doing a flip mid air and landing on his feet as well as one hand, grinning up to his crush. Sarukui doesn’t seem overly pleased at the display, his lips locked in a permanent smirk.

“That was kinda dangerous.”

“Shut up, that was kinda cool.” Haruki retorts, and they head in yet another direction. Not making the meeting place in time will be okay if they find the ball, but coming up empty-handed 45 minutes late when everyone is waiting as they already found the ball, that’s fucked. Haruki voices these concern to Sarukui, who is fidgety enough as it is. “Anyway, we’re going to be scolded if we can’t find-” 

Walking ahead, Haruki’s face was turned to Sarukui to talk to him. The second he looks forward though, he finds an unusual colour between the greenery. Bokuto is hiding behind one of the bushes, and he shushes them with a finger as they approach. They crouch down like him, not yet knowing why, wanting to see what he sees. Bokuto’s finger leaves his lips and he points upwards to a branch. They’re staring at an owl in the trees.

“Holy shit,” Sarukui says, but not because of _that_ owl. Turning around, Haruki notices what gave Sarukui half an heart attack; behind them sits Washio, smaller than they had ever seen him (and smaller than they thought he could be). His eyes are looking upwards too, and while Bokuto kneels in the undergrowth, Washio’s bent legs are pressed together against his chest, his arms looping around them to keep them in check. His chin is on his knees and he does not blink. 

“Are you guys even looking for the volleyball?” Sarukui asks, and Bokuto, _Bokuto_ of all people, tells him to be silent. 

“Don’t scare it away!” He hisses. “Do you know how rare it is to see a wild owl, in the wild, in broad daylight?”

It is a rare feat, Haruki agrees, watching the beautiful creature who entrances them all. Except Sarukui, who keeps fidgeting. The owl hoots, twice, then takes flight, and they ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the spread of its wings, the lighter colours of the feathers. Then the reason why the owl probably took flight stumbles from behind the tree it had perched on.

“The hell!? You guys, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Konoha removes a leaf from his hair, the sour face unhappy to have finally found them. “Everyone’s has been back since ages, and they send me out- Oooh.” 

Konoha shuts up when Washio, still on his ass, shows him his phone and the photos from the owl he snapped before Haruki and Sarukui came to the scene. Calm, forgetting his mission, Konoha squats down to have a proper look. “That’s a beautiful one… I wish I would have seen it.”

The first one standing is Sarukui, who reminds Konoha of the time frame. Konoha explains that the volleyballs weren’t hidden that far off after all, but that most first years were sent deep into the woods. 

“Coach is pissed. He gave me all this nonsense so I wouldn’t be lost too.” Konoha shows off the tracker, a compass, a digital compass, and a walkie-talkie. He keeps the last item out Bokuto’s reach. After he told the other hand that he’s coming back with four alive first years in tact, he resumes his story. “Apparently some guys had the bright idea to send us all off hoping we’d get lost and not be in time. Penalties and that stuff, degrading in the groups, all that bla bla. The captain is interrogating everyone together with Ito-senpai, trying to find the culprit.”

At last, Sarukui relaxes, his pace slowing down now that he knows he doesn’t have to make it back so fast. On return, they notices the tension in the camp to be high. Most first years cower from the canteen, as if it was all their fault. Sarukui doesn’t even try to feel bad about it at all. Haruki can tell by the furrow of his brows and the smaller eyes that he might even be angry for being played like that. It’s a display Haruki, a hot head deep down, likes a lot. He tells his heart off from beating faster, and remains calm. 

After the failed cops and robbers game, they resume normal practice. The coaches don’t act harder on anyone. Sarukui’s spikes and Washio’s blocks rise in ferocity, while Bokuto maintains hitting sharp straights for life. Konoha makes good saves whenever Haruki spares him a glance, and he’s soon well-liked in his new team, which partly still consists of Haruki’s and Sarukui’s old one. 

 

During the afternoon break, Shirofuku joins the five of them again, bringing a plate full of onigiri but sharing it with none of them. Laughing, Haruki and Washio get food for everyone, while Bokuto and Konoha try to fight the manager. She protects her food like a hawk, and kicks Bokuto’s knee, unprotected by the kneepad lowered to his ankles. 

“You guys are really good. Where does all that energy comes from?” She asks, somehow, past her stuffed cheeks. It’s incredible she can even talk. Of course Washio doesn’t her straight away, and so Konoha takes it upon himself to puff his chest and tell her about the post-practice activities they work on every day. 

“Kaori-san, is it? Do you maybe have time to help us out once we’re back?” Konoha asks, already friendly with the girl. She holds up three fingers. 

“I require three healthy meals a day. If I don’t get them in time, three rice balls should do.” Her fingers transform into the peace sign, and she opens and closes them like a scissors. Konoha hangs his head; he has told them during dinner yesterday that he can’t form rice balls to save his life. Bokuto smacks his hand on Konoha’s shoulder, who sits straight up from the sudden pain.

“I can ask my mom to make extra for you! It would be super helpful to have a manager help us out.” Bokuto grins, and Kaori nods, accepting the offer. As the break is over, she takes their plates (and any leftovers) and waves, wishing them good luck with the first string tryouts. 

“Ah, whoops, I wasn’t supposed to say…” Shirofuku blushes and holds her hand against the cheek, then brushes away residue rice before continuing the pose. Once she’s sure no one else is close enough to hear her but the five boys, Shirofuku cups her hand, mouthing: “The matches of this afternoon decide placings of the teams. Tonight and tomorrow there will be a sort of mini tournament. Good luck, ne!”

Not wanting to be late, they race towards the gymnasiums, ready as ever to perform well. 

 

The tournament of sorts was a new form of how high level high school volleyball is in comparison to middle school. If Haruki ever thought he fought hard or didn’t have it easy in those three years, he was badly mistaken and knew of it when the rally he was in never ended. One after the other, he received, on his forearms, overhand, sliding forward on his knees. Sarukui kept jumping for spikes, for decoys, for blocks. Everyone around them didn’t lose spirit, and Haruki made sure his voice was always heard. 

When the rally finally results in a point for his team, he wants to collapse, but he can’t. Sarukui is up for the serve and he gives him a low five before letting him take the position behind the backline. They’re two points away from a won set, and in this ‘tournament’ as Shirofuku dubbed it, there’s only to win or to lose. Sarukui’s previous serve wasn’t bad; he had kept his feet on the ground, wanting control over mistakes. But the rally that came afterwards had been taxing. 

“Nice serve!” Haruki calls out to him, an echo of it coming from their seniors. Someone from Konoha’s team is the referee in this match, blowing the whistle. Konoha’s teammates are keeping count, while he himself hasn’t been present at all. It’s only two more points to the 25th; to victory. Sarukui steps back, throws the ball, and approaches the back line with three fast steps. His jump serve isn’t perfect, but it’s not bad either. The ball touches the top side of the net, falls over, and while Haruki’s nerves are on edge, he watches how the second year at the other side can’t reach it in time.

“Yes!” Haruki jumps, a ball of energy, then runs to Sarukui and jumps him too. The team huddles together, rubbing Sarukui’s head. They go back into position. Set point.

“One more, Saru!” Haruki yells, standing on his toes and spreading his arms to the side, ready to receive whatever comes his way, if need be. He doesn’t register what he says anymore, and only looks ahead. 

The confidence that came with his no-touch service ace builds forth when Sarukui performs another jump serve. He’s still learning about courses, and this one is received by the opponent. Haruki reacts quickly, yelling out ‘I’ve got it’ without thinking, and receives the ball with his left arm stretched out to the left. It bounces in a perfect arc, the ball having barely any rotation at all. Haruki readies himself for a block follow, but it never comes. The spikers, two of them on either side of the setter, jump as one man, and one of them delivers the final blow, winning the set for them. 

Sarukui sighs in relief, and pulls Haruki into the huddle on his way to the middle. High strung on nerves and tension, Haruki doesn’t register many of the words being said to either him or the team as a whole. A few sets were played, and some teams had already been eliminated. The thought of food returns to him, and he leaves the court with Sarukui to hydrate. Sarukui gives him a few glances, and Haruki can’t tell if he wants to say something or is just breathing hard. As winners, they don’t have to clean up the gym for once, and as first years, they’re on canteen duty.

Outside they hear that Bokuto and Washio won their match as well.

“Live to play another day, yay!” Bokuto’s hands are up in the air for the high ten, and Haruki has to jump to reach them. The mood is bright as they go to the canteen, ready to help themselves to the first serving before they have to help handing out food and clean dishes. On their way, they see a pair of legs, kneepads down to the ankles, sprouting from behind a large tree. Washio and Sarukui check to investigate, and as Washio squats down to whoever is moping there in silence, Sarukui’s hand beckons them closer. 

Bokuto cusses. Haruki looks around Sarukui and over Washio, finding Konoha in the lowest spirits he had ever seen the other boy. No one has to ask what happened, as the big picture is clear to them all.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Bokuto says, but his encouragement is cut short by Konoha’s scoff, who looks away from them. His blond hair isn’t long enough to hide his sad eyes. He might have muttered something mean, but they all don’t pay attention to it. Behind them, other first years walk to the canteen for their duties. Haruki sees Bokuto shift his legs, looking behind him, arms crossed; he tries to shield Konoha from any onlookers. Washio spreads his arms over his thighs, doing the same thing.

Unable to stop it, Haruki sees a lot himself in Konoha in this moment. It reminds him of when he couldn’t play because of an injury. He couldn’t stand on his leg without feeling an immense pain. While something else entirely keeps Konoha down, Haruki is unable to let him remain there. He brushes past Washio, who calls him back in a low voice. Haruki ignores him, hand already on Konoha’s arm. 

“So what? We’re on canteen duty, remember? We eat, clean the dishes, and then we go to the gym. Whatever you fucked up today, we work on the weaknesses and straighten them out before tomorrow.” Haruki has seen enough of Konoha in the last few weeks to know one thing; if someone else was at fault or made mistakes, Konoha tends to scold them, but would also help to let that person become better. When _he_ made mistakes, he didn’t let himself live it down. He was much harder on himself than on anyone else. Haruki grips his arm tighter, trying to stand. 

“It doesn’t matter if you made mistakes. It matters if you still have the fight to grow past them. It’s much worse being seen like this than being seen losing. There’s the second lo- the second rounds for you tomorrow.” Bokuto bit his lip when he almost said ‘losers’. “The coaches don’t look at the placements, well, not mostly. You can still show improvement and your will to win.”

When Haruki pulls Konoha’s arm this time, there’s movement. Konoha’s back runs up the tree as he stands, his legs not yet up for the task. Washio stands too, while Bokuto and Sarukui turn around, giving him the space. Haruki takes it in high regard that Konoha sniffles or rubs his eyes in front of him, not caring about showing his sadness. 

They walk towards the canteen, Washio’s hand tight on Konoha’s shoulders. 

“Bokuto’s right. As long you don’t give up, no hope is lost.” He says as they enter the canteen, letting go of Konoha as he can walk in himself. Konoha doesn’t say anything during the meal, and avoids eye contact too. It takes all the way through food hand out before he speaks, and when he does, it’s to joke around with a senpai from his team, as he piles up the rice higher and higher for him.

Shirofuku helps during the dishes, too. Bokuto manages to be in debt for the rice balls already, but also gets her to help them out during the training. She was present when Konoha lost, and has a minute play-by-play chart, which she brings to the gym as they set up their usual extra half hour practice session. To Washio she says, “I think during one play… he probably slipped on the wet floor and missed. Of course a point loss is still a loss but… I hope he isn’t too down on it because of small mistakes like that.”

Washio nods, either in agreeing one should see past it, or as form of understanding what Shirofuku just said. 

They don’t really know what other mistakes Konoha made, or which mistakes he counts as so because others didn’t connect to the plays. Shirofuku reconstructs situations as she pleases, and they all act accordingly. Haruki doesn’t understand what Konoha would be lacking but then again, maybe he plays better with them than with others, or group 3 did lower in quality once Haruki left.

When everyone’s done with the baths, coach Yamiji has to send them out of the gym before he locks it up.

“You guys…” He scoffs, then pulls Shirofuku’s chart to himself. Konoha and Bokuto have already gone running, not wanting to be scolded, so only Washio, Sarukui and Haruki are present when the coach hands Shirofuku’s notepad back to her. She crossed out a lot of things, added green checkmarks to whatever Konoha did good earlier. “He worked on all that?”

Shirofuku nods. The boys are send to the baths, while Shirofuku joins her senpai manager on the other side. 

When they enter the baths, Bokuto and Konoha cause mayhem. Haruki is eager to join in, while Washio holds the two apart and pushes them into the tub. 

Undressing, Sarukui bows over to Haruki.

“You called me Saru?”

Blinking, Haruki looks up, in the middle of pushing his sweaty pants down. “You- uh, yeah. Is that okay?”

Sarukui grins, a true one that pushes his cheeks up and tints them in a pink-ish colour. It makes his eyes close up, and Haruki can practically see flowers spout off his skin in happiness. 

“No it’s alright, I like it.”

_Well damn, I like you so…_ Haruki smiles back and they join Washio as they clean the grime of the day off their skin. Konoha tells them to hurry up, back to his old self. He has a bruise on one shoulder, probably from a play in the set he lost. As he walks over to the bathtub, Sarukui presses a particular dark blue bruise on Haruki’s arm. The jump he’s performed is more from the fact that Sarukui just touched him, then from the pain or the surprise. He falls into the tub, splashing the already-sitting inhabitants with water. While Bokuto and Konoha curse him, Washio shakes his head free of the new wave of water that just went over him. 

Sarukui laughs, apologizes, and joins in, while Haruki keeps his safe distance. He’s as red as a tomato, just like Washio had been yesterday.

*~*~*

The evening ends in a pillow fight. Haruki doesn’t know how it started, but he has a feeling it’s a continuation from the brotherly brawl Bokuto and Konoha had in the baths. It might just be Bokuto trying to lift Konoha’s mood. Upon entering, Haruki rolls to the side, grabs a pillow, and joins the fight. Washio doesn’t even try to make them stop, simply taking a pillow and using it as a shield.

“You guys…” Sarukui says in their coach’s voice, and they all end up laughing that too, on top of being pummeled by fluffy pillows. Behind closed doors, their bedtime is never. Konoha keeps telling Bokuto off for giggling too loud, and tries his hardest to flatten the fluffed up, blow dried hair. 

“Take this, horned owl!” 

Meanwhile, Haruki finds himself in a dangerous place. He’s busy pillow-fighting Sarukui, while holding back his pillow-punches. Whenever he hits Sarukui, the other laughs, not falling back in defeat. Inching closer and closer on his knees, Haruki readies himself for the ultimate attack. The counter-assault blows him away, however, and he finds himself defenseless. Heart beating through his ears, he attacks Sarukui again, falling right on top of him, no pillow-defenses between them.

Haruki hardly touches Sarukui’s sides, who erupts in manic laughter from the bare brush of wrists to his ribcage. For a second Haruki fears he’d get a kick in the guts. “D-don’t. Komi, p-please.” 

“En garde!” Bokuto’s pillow flies against Haruki’s head, who didn’t see the attack coming, too lost for movement or words or any normal human function. Removing his hands from where he leans over Sarukui, his fingers dare for a tentative touch at the side. The mayhem is imminent. Sarukui crawls away, laughing out loud, his tears running past closed eyes. The knees are up over his chest for protection, and Haruki’s mouth splits into a knowing smile.

“You brats! Shut the hell up and go the fuck to sleep already, gods!” Ito yells, seeing the mess they made, and heats up even more. Under an angry eye they clean up the futons, Sarukui still giggling behind his hand. “And now, silence. If I hear another peep from you-”

Haruki tickles Sarukui’s side, who crashes on the floor, pillow to his face to mute his giggles. But Ito heard the snort that came from him, nonetheless.

“Especially you, Sarukui! I swear to god, I will smash a volleyball into your face first thing at our match tomorrow if you keep smiling like you always do. You better take this seriously!” Ito ruffles himself up, then leaves in a huff and a puff, slamming the doors. Once his steps can’t be heard again, Bokuto, eyes wide, looks to where Sarukui is a pile of nothing but after-giggle-shocks. 

“Dude, you’re so dead. I can’t even help you.” Bokuto is in the same team as Ito, and Washio nods. No help at all. Sarukui whines about how people mistake his facial structures. Haruki clasps his shoulder, not looking at him

“Don’t worry, I’ll have him covered.” Haruki grins, challenging the other two. Then he looks at Sarukui, whose head slowly re-emerges from behind his pillow-safety zone. Still grinning, Haruki adds. “I will save every ball from your beau- fffrom your face, Saru!”

First he almost said ‘beautiful’. Then he almost said ‘fuck’. Haruki retrieves his pillow from Sarukui’s arms, then hides his red face as he tells them all to do as Ito said and lay low for now. Before anyone can say anything, he points at Konoha. Outside, the forest’s nightlife creatures awaken and add background noises to the awkward silence in the room. Haruki’s brain goes into an overdrive to diffuse.

“You, do your best tomorrow, or it's the second string still!” He doesn’t mean it, but Konoha getting flustered is a good enough diversion. Then Haruki points at both Bokuto and Washio, his finger going haywire between the staring two prodigies, needing something to divert everyone’s attention even further away from his speaking mishaps. “And you two! I won’t ever lose to tall guys!”

Most of their worries, above all Konoha’s, are forgotten past lights out. But in the dark, Haruki can hide his shame in his fluffy pillow, which smells like Sarukui and all sorts of mistakes his heart is making. 

*~*~*

In the end, the number one team is team number one. Bokuto celebrates by jumping Washio, whose straight body is yet too shy to bow down for all the hair ruffles his teammates want to give him. Or, as Haruki understands, he keeps his hair out of greasy grasps, the need to stay stylish high. After defeating Haruki and Sarukui, they won every set with a five point difference. 

Konoha’s team won everything in what was called the ‘loser rounds for honour’. A round for an invisible third place. Whatever these two days would mean for them all wouldn’t be known until they were back at school, the coach announced afterwards. Earlier that morning, everyone had taken their final runs and then they had all assembled in a single gym with everyone present and watching as the two matches were played simultaneously. For now, they should clean up everything, and pack their stuff. There was another stop to made, and they had no time to lose. It wasn’t even 1 o’clock, but most boys felt that something big was on the horizon.

Shirofuku didn’t enlighten them as before, and only said it was actually something fun and relaxing. She also peace-signed Bokuto, a constant reminder of the three rice balls he owes her next week. 

They load the bus and take their seats, Bokuto planting himself next to Hasegawa, Washio offering Konoha the window seat, and Haruki installing himself and Sarukui behind all of them. Haruki was somehow able to sleep the past evening away and regain his high focus on the training instead. Playing with Sarukui, exchanging friendly high fives or hugs, as well as sitting next to him like this, didn’t make his skin grow hot again. He was able to relax, and they analyzed their match against Bokuto and Washio. Neither of them noticing the change of scenery which went on in the background.

They drove from mountains to the flatter lands, outlined by perfect blue skies mingling with even bluer horizons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the strenuous training camp, the Fukuroudani VBC bus rides down a postcard perfect scenery and drops the club members off to have some fun at the beach. Here, Komi has to deal with a half-naked Sarukui, as well as playing in the sand trying to look cool.
> 
> There's few chances to look super cool afterwards, when they returned home, however. Insights of Komi's home life, Sarukui's fashion sense, and what happens when you faint in front of your crush, shall all be revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....I didn't realized when I posted the second chapter that it was 12k of words to chew through. I also did this with 'Into the battlefield with a flower bouquet', when I posted a 14k one shot un-chopped. To be honest, I don't know if people like longer works or shorter ones and how they'd like their chapters... When debating if I should try and chop this one up, I felt apalled having one chapter of 4000 words and one of 6000, because going from 12k to 4000 words feels... lacking. 
> 
> Idk man I just wanna have done and write fun things in my free time ;;;;; I decided against splitting the chapters (because when I went back to the other one I didn't really see a good place which would have a nice ending Dx) and keep them long for now.
> 
> ANYWAY!!! this chapter is half beach outing and half sick fic, and I hope it's fun to read uvu I had loads of fun writing their team dynamic in this and letting Yukie more into the fun of things. I just love love love the owls and writing Konoha??? it's so fun ;A; Bokuto is a dear, Washio is super cool... aaahhh I had fun with this chapter ;v;

They don’t stop close to the location, yet the murmurs of voices around them rise as the bus stops. Haruki looks out of the window seeing the bus leaking out the members to stretch their legs. Bokuto drapes himself over his seat, eyes alight as he stares at them, speechless for once. 

They’re going to the beach. No one was notified or was prepared for this, but the coaches tells the managers to get sun lotion for everyone. They will set up the parasols and towels. The members themselves have to follow their captain and vice, who lead them to a nearby shop. Hasegawa tells the group at the front (where Bokuto had dragged them all, unable to restrain himself) that coach Yamiji is good friends with the owner, and they get swim trunks for a special Fukuroudani price. 

“Third years, take the white ones. Second years, you go with black.” 

“And us?” Konoha asks, speaking for all first years. It’s Ito who responds with a grin, pointing at the grey pairs. There weren’t gold ones, after all. 

Picking the right pair doesn’t take long for most guys, but as they are a legion of high school boys, the waiting line takes some time to become smaller. At last they’re all equipped in summer-y outfits. Konoha wears an open checkered shirt, not yet ready for the May sun. Outside, the buses are gone, visible far ahead. Hasegawa explains with a smile.

“And now we run. Last time guys! And no penalties.” 

Running over sand is enjoyable and the first years (except Bokuto) take their time heading to the designated area. Bokuto runs back to them, jumping and pointing behind him.

“Guys, guys! Beach volleyball! Come on, Konoha and Komi, you’re on my team. Washio, find our lady onigiri manager, she can play with us!” His starry eyes go back to the various locations where nets are set up by their club members. The managers, Shirofuku wearing a big straw sunhat, gives out one bottle of body lotion to each group of five people. The oldest manager calls out to everyone to get out of the sun for 30 minutes to let the lotion do its protective work, but a lot of guys are already sprinting to the cool sea. 

Sarukui and Konoha head to a large parasol with 10 towels laid out and mark it as their territory by sitting there with the lotion. Haruki and the rest join up with them, Haruki sitting closest to Sarukui. After all, there’s a beach and sun lotion. Best opportunity ever.

“We should sit in a circle and lotion each other backs.” Bokuto grins, but Konoha shoots the idea down before Haruki even feels threatened. 

“That’s the dumbest idea ever.” Their bickering, with Washio occupied with watching over them, gives Haruki the chance to bump the lotion against Sarukui’s arm.

“Need me to do your back? That over there will take a while.” Haruki nods to the two heavily engrossed specimens, counting pros and cons of a ‘sun lotion circle’. To Haruki’s eternal happiness, Sarukui’s cheeks go up in a real laugh, and he repositions himself for Haruki to go about his business. 

Careful not to spill the lotion past his hands onto the towel by being enraptured by the given sight, Haruki rubs the lotion in even circles across the large backside. While keeping a cool front, Haruki dies on the inside when the situation calls for his hands to go over the shoulders, the moving shoulder blades, careful not to cross to the ribcage or the sides too much, and to follow the spine. Sarukui still snorts when Haruki’s fingers come anywhere near the sides though, utterly adorable in Haruki’s book.

Not leaving any patch of skin out, he goes to the danger zone of the swimming trunks waistband. A chill runs over his own spine when his fingertips vanish for a few seconds below, only to make sure that Sarukui will be well protected. Residue on his fingers, Haruki ends at the neck, heart swelling. 

“Done.” He says, his voice coarse. Clearing his throat, Haruki looks over the creamy shoulders to where Bokuto is trying to put sunscreen on Konoha’s face, who ducks and gets it in his hair. 

“I uh, could do the back of the legs too if you’d lay down.” Haruki says, unhopeful. Anyone could do his own legs, right? 

“Mhnn, good idea. Thank you, Komi.” Sarukui says without looking to him, then lies down, head resting on his arms. Gulping, Haruki puts more sun lotion into the palm of his hands, then works them over the back of the thighs. He runs his hands over the inside of the knees, soft and slightly ticklish. Unlike during the pillow fight, Haruki doesn’t tease a giggling Sarukui too long this time, and rubs the lotion over the calves. 

“Alright, you can do the rest yourself, I guess.” Haruki says, taking a deep breath as he sits down. Sarukui rises up to look at him, then at the sun lotion, then takes it out of Haruki’s hands. 

“You seem the type to be active on beaches, I’m sure you need sunscreen as well, Komi?”

Konoha runs away, Bokuto yelling after him. Washio sighs and follows them, telling them off for playing around without protection on. At the same time, Haruki lies on his front, throat tight. Sarukui doesn’t touch him with any of his lower parts, which is both a blessing and a bummer. Knees spread far from Haruki’s sides, Sarukui starts humming a popular pop song while he massages Haruki. The latter doesn’t know if it’s just to work in the lotion as well as he can, or if he aspires to be a professional masseur, of if Sarukui is simply mindless about the things he does to Haruki. 

Without ever touching him apart from the hands, Sarukui turns around, focusing on the legs. Haruki isn’t ticklish, so he can just close his eyes and enjoy the careful ministrations, which aren’t meant as such. He feels both incredible at being touched like this, as well as bad for exploiting Sarukui’s goodwill and kindness. Sarukui bows over him when he reaches for the ankles, and Haruki is suddenly aware of the other boy’s weight pressing down against his arms. 

“Yosh. Now we only have to do the rest and wait.” Sarukui says, returning to his own claimed towel. When Haruki sits up after half a minute of post-bliss, he sees how Sarukui’s utmost care doesn’t go to himself. When he spreads lotion on his own skin, it’s mechanical; fast. By the time they’re both done, Konoha returns, pushed by Washio with Bokuto pouting right behind them.

“Now both of you sit down. You two heard the managers.” Washio promptly situates himself behind the two backs sitting side by side, and lotions both of them at once. Haruki thinks it must be some kind of blocker skill. Bokuto and Konoha sit in unusual silence while Washio’s hawk eyes make sure they’re both well-protected against the sun, without further incident. 

Sarukui looks to other guys running to the water, and then he sighs. “I never gave it much thought but… I think I should start going to the gym…”

“Huh, the one at the back with all those weights?” Konoha asks, patting sand off his knees. 

When Sarukui nods, eyes to his feet, Haruki feels concern rising in his chest. There’s a sense of protectiveness, the need to make Sarukui feel good about himself in whatever way possible. “Why you don’t-, eh, I mean.” 

He wants to say ‘you don’t look bad’ but that’s crossing lines he’s not yet able to even acknowledge in their full weight. Sarukui isn’t as fit as Washio, who clearly either has weights at home or does a bunch of workouts. Although Sarukui has soft patches of skin, he isn’t chubby in the slightest. None of the club members do. Instead, Haruki has seen a few of them who are thinner than Konoha while being the same height. Konoha and Sarukui don’t have a huge height difference either, but Sarukui looked ‘more’ in terms of flesh and muscle definition. 

“Hnnn.” Sarukui hums so silently that Haruki would have missed it if he hadn’t been leaning in. He follows the line of sight where Sarukui is watching two boys at the net, tossing back and forth. They’re third years who Haruki has heard visit the Fukuroudani household weight room twice a week. “I know I don’t look un-fit but, yeah, well.”

Bokuto jumps off his behind and leans up close in Sarukui’s face. Haruki would have pushed him out of Sarukui’s personal space, if it wasn’t for the words that followed out of Bokuto’s excited mouth. “You wanna improve and work on it either way, right? Me too! I want to strengthen my core and lower body more. We can’t do heavy stuff yet though, with our age and stuff, but we can develop certain muscle groups!”

Sarukui didn’t look bad at all, but the thought of him working out and getting more muscle definition wasn’t rubbing Haruki the wrong way either. Talking about work outs made Washio join in too, who, as Haruki thought, had dumbbells at home _and_ did various work outs using his own strength and weight. The time they had to pass waiting for the sun block to do its work passed by quickly while they shared info and improvements they wanted to make. 

Plans made, Konoha announces he might come as well, saying it as if it is a bother. The boys stand up, hyped to move, and look for a patch of sand with a net not yet claimed by the rest of the members. Even in their downtime, they need volleyball. When they find a place to do so, the dilemma of being five people arrives.

“Two versus two, right? Ah shit,” Bokuto looks between the others, fingers on his chin, one eye wider than the other. He wants to decide who to pick, but Konoha beats him.

“I’ll take the libero. Washio, Sarukui, why don’t you two team up for a change?” Konoha picks up the ball and walks past a stupefied Bokuto. He pats the lowered shoulders. “Go for a swim? Be a ref? We can rotate criss-cross every 10 points I think.”

“But-” Bokuto starts, this time interrupted by Washio, who holds out a hand for Sarukui to enter their side of the net first. 

Grinning, Haruki stands diagonal to Konoha’s right, rubbing his hands. As usual, Washio takes the net to guard for himself, while Sarukui assumes the same receiving position as Haruki. They play as Konoha suggested, while Bokuto tries to foul Konoha every now and then in his new position of referee. For revenge, Haruki curves one of his receives into Bokuto’s face, conceding the instant out. Although the rallies go on longer than this morning, Haruki enjoys himself more and more. The sand beneath his toes and knees is softer and more lenient, although the pay off in speed isn’t that grand. 

It’s all fun times, anyways. After winning ten points, Sarukui changes himself out for Bokuto, who has been jumping up and down the line at Konoha’s side to get him fouled out for a made up rule. Washio and Bokuto work well together, but Washio’s not the best at tossing, which upsets Bokuto’s attack power. When they win the set, Haruki high fives Konoha, who wants to take the break this time. 

“Sarukui~ You go in for me, man. I’ll get us some snacks.” Konoha laughs, loud enough to go over Bokuto’s ‘chicken’ insults. Washio tells Konoha what to get.

Greeting Sarukui, Haruki’s pulse speeds up when he’s pushed to the front lines. 

“I want to receive more…” Sarukui says, and it’s a face Haruki can’t deny. When he turns around, cursing under his breath, he’s faced with the wall, Washio, and the canon, Bokuto. _’Fun times, eh.’_ Not one to be frightened quickly or at all by guys taller than him, Haruki grounds himself, ready to take flight if he needs to. He doesn’t even try to block, letting Sarukui handle the receives the best he can. Whenever Haruki jumps for a spike, his tactic is easy. Tipping into the ball, he makes it either dump down or balance on the white net rim, making it hard for Washio to block or receive. 

“You can’t keep getting outplayed by a shrimp half your size, Washio!” Konoha returns with ice cream on a stick, three in each hand, six in total. Shirofuku runs behind him, holding bottled water in her arms. She keeps her distance once they come to the beachy court, as Haruki’s eyes look ready to kill. Not many people have made any height jokes towards Haruki, at least none he could hear, and definitely no one from the volleyball club found himself stupid enough to even try. After years of it, the thought alone still makes Haruki’s blood boil.

“Who are you callin’ a shrimp, fox-face?”

“The one with shrimp-coloured hair, shrimp-like diving receives and uh, oh yeah! The one being as short as a shrimp, shrimpy.” He grins, pushing the cold ice cream bar against Haruki’s cheeks. It’s one thing to be stupid enough to make fun of Haruki’s size, it’s another stupid thing to dare and come within arm-length proximity. Konoha has to jump back when Haruki aims a roundhouse kick at him. The cold precision ultimately slices through air only. 

Washio ducks under the net to prevent things from spinning out of control, but he holds back enough to indicate he would let Haruki get some sort of satisfaction punishment on Konoha. Not wanting to ruin the mood if even Washio gets concerned, Haruki keeps his arms down before trying to jump Konoha and rub his perfect hair amiss. Words will have to do for a second.

“You wish you could receive like me.” Haruki says, voice low, taking another step forward even though Sarukui calls out to him to keep it cool.

Konoha points one finger gun at him. “Absolutely true.” 

At once the tension vaporizes. Handing him a water bottle, Konoha says how he can’t dive, watch where he’s going, know where his teammates are, and where the ball is. He asks if Haruki can give him tips for prioritization once they’re back at Fukuroudani. Washio sighs and grabs ice for him and Bokuto, both leaving the beachy court. They take a break and watch another group of guys getting pumped up for a quick match to decide who gets crisps for all of them, including the crowd watching. Sarukui keeps close to Haruki, as if the latter is a bomb ready to explode by anything Konoha says. 

“Relax, Saru. We’re good.” Haruki laughs at Sarukui who fidgets when he sits close to Konoha. They open their ice cream packages (Bokuto requesting to change his with Washio’s, who allows it) and settle in to watch. Haruki doesn’t make the same mistake twice. When he eats his ice cream, he doesn’t glance at Sarukui. The sun’s warm and the mood is good, and there’s no need to ruin anything. The previous sunscreen thing and the coziness spread in his body from playing good matches just for fun have his senses dulled. 

They continue observing the match at a safe distance, quickly taking sides for the loser team, as they’re bound to get the crisps for them, too. When they lose at last, the six of them (Washio probably mouthing mostly, or showing his thumbs up) make disappointed noises, saying they’d totally thought the two guys who lost would make a comeback. It works wonders: when the two senpai return, they give the group of six a large bag of prawn crisps. 

Of course Konoha waves the first one he takes out of the bag into Haruki’s face, who slaps his arm away, not too hard. It doesn’t make him stop though, and another prawn crisps floats in front of Haruki’s nose. He goes for it, mouth enclosing the crisp, and Haruki doesn’t give a shit when his teeth bite down on Konoha’s fingers. Yelling out, and having been taught when enough is enough, Konoha stops his joking.

Sarukui holds Haruki’s waistband however, apprehensive of another fight breaking out. Grinning, Haruki eases the seemingly pacifist with a hand full of crisps. In front of them, the groups change, and while the first years share the bag left and right, they analyze the plays. Especially Washio, who sounds like he would be a good match commentator. The best things are the dry comments he makes.

“Takahashi-senpai dives for the ball and- falls short by only a meter or so. He has seen better days on the court than he has on the sand. Here however, he cannot blame slippiness on the court. A shame for his self-confidence.” Washio’s voice is low, making sure the cursing senior in question won’t hear him. The rest of them giggle nonetheless, hiding it behind hands and each other. Shirofuku also has to watch out because she is always eating when Washio says the dumbest things, and the food threatens to leave the way it came. Haruki can see that Washio glances at her, and actually makes sure she’s eating whenever he drops his little jokes. 

Noticing this, Bokuto turns to him.

“Say, Washio-kun.” Bokuto asks when the match resumes after Takahashi’s miss, fall out and vow to avenge himself. “Why are you actually so shy around other people? Do you need to know them better to be yourself or what is it?” 

Washio deadpans at Bokuto’s question, then looks straight ahead again. “I am not shy.”

Maybe if Haruki hadn’t met him on day one, if he hadn’t stood right beside him when he couldn’t introduce himself in the gym, or maybe if he hadn’t seen all the times Washio had found the ground more interesting than his senior’s faces… Maybe he might have believed the words coming from a cool-looking, chill type as him.

But he had seen it all, and he couldn’t take Washio’s reply seriously. None of them could. 

“Are you shitting me? You’re the shyest out here, and that includes the freaking wimp in our year.” Konoha of all people is the one to stab him in the back, and he does it while stuffing his face right after. The discussion goes on, while Washio denies everything and doesn’t look at his friends anymore, his hands linked around his bent knees. By way of apologizing, Bokuto and Konoha sit on either side of him, hustling him back and forth. 

“It’s alright to be shy! It’s gonna be hella laughable though when you grow to be 2 meters in our third year.” Konoha laughs, while Bokuto agrees. Washio, who has given up on denying his shyness for a second, says it’s impossible to grow that large in that short of a timespan. Shirofuku drags herself to the front of his feet, showing how shy he actually is when he tries to retreat his legs in order not to touch her. The boys hold Washio’s shoulders, while Shirofuku draws closer, making Washio look up at the sky when he can’t handle direct eye contact.

Haruki is left alone on the far right, besides Sarukui, to watch and not help their tallest first year. After all, Washio is not shy at all when he stares down at people on the other side of the net. He can do this. 

“Mhnnn, maybe we should go for a swim.” Sarukui opts, and Haruki can’t do anything else but agree. When they get up, Washio sees his chance and joins them. Konoha and Bokuto make a run to see who can be first in the water, both beaten by Shirofuku, whose speed is incredible.

“She told someone earlier today that she used to do track.” Washio says. Haruki already wondered why he spoke so much around the girl, as he usually takes much longer to warm up to people. Haruki never understood why Washio had stared him down on day one at the gymnasium, or why he never had any problems with either of Konoha or Bokuto’s personalities. Sarukui was the chillest of them all, and of course Haruki’s rose-coloured perception agreed that you couldn’t help but feel at ease around him. 

“Heeeh, she’s super fast.” Haruki comments, watching as Bokuto makes an attempt to lift and drop Konoha into the water. He keeps pace with Sarukui, who still looks at other guys, crossing his arms in front of his chest right after. The need to pull those arms apart (and hold one of the hands) is high, yet Haruki controls his fiery emotions for a few seconds.

When the small waves of water touch their toes, Haruki extends his wiggly fingers to tickle Sarukui in the sides, watching him laugh and unwind. Walking like this -Haruki’s index fingers attacking Sarukui and the latter trying to avoid him, beg him, while his giggles are too heavenly to bear- their legs get wet in the water, and Sarukui relaxes. Once they’re in deep enough, they swim towards where Shirofuku and Konoha are swimming. Bokuto speeds towards another group, once again volleyball crazy. 

If the half naked body or the close and personal touches earlier weren’t enough, Haruki’s head becomes all warm and fuzzy at the display of water droplets running down Sarukui’s everywhere. The wet hair looks good on him, and he becomes infinitely more beautiful when his already constant-looking smile lights up truly. Huffing, Haruki dives under the water, not looking for trouble. 

The day goes by way too fast. They exchange the beach for the sea, the sea for the beach, and take walks to the ice cream stand until their coach forbids it. The club finds themselves astonished when they not only see Bokuto with his hair down, but also Washio. In a team effort, Bokuto, Konoha, Sarukui and Haruki had attacked the tall boy and made him get his perfect hair wet and flat. They made up with a secretive ice cream mission. 

The sun lowers itself in the distance, high enough across the water to make it shimmer in a beautiful way that Haruki couldn’t have appreciated before. Romance did crazy things to his perspective on things, and he found himself staring at Sarukui’s side, who has his head turned to the water as well. Coming closer, not minding the commotion Bokuto and Washio create by blocking their senpai in beach volleyball matches 3 vs 3 (Konoha on the receiving back line), Haruki gives his friend a nudge to get his attention. 

“Gorgeous, huh?” Sarukui says after one glance, peering back to the shimmering sea. Haruki never takes his eyes of Sarukui’s profile when he answers.

“Uh, yeah. Totally.”

Before the sun comes close to touching the watery horizon, their coach announces a BBQ that will take place back where they got out of the bus. It’s at the same place where they bought the swimming trunks. Before they can eat however, they’re supposed to load anything in the bus that belongs there, make the area they used clean of dirt and leftovers, and then they are asked to run for the final time. 

Apart from Bokuto and Shirofuku, they all take it slow. By some sort of luck, Haruki only trips once looking at Sarukui. They’re the last to arrive but still find a good place to sit, half of them doing the food rounds. 

The mishap of tripping in front of his crush still salting his bones, Haruki moves extra carefully balancing plates of food, for himself and Sarukui. He also makes up for it by eating like a normal person, and telling jokes to all of them, proud when Sarukui laughs, too. Dried off, bellies filled, they watch the sun as the orb sinks into the water. Then Hasegawa does rounds telling people to change and head back into the bus, and Shirofuku busies herself helping with the clean up. 

Haruki’s final good deed of the day is not falling asleep on Sarukui’s arms during the busride back to their school. The bus is silent, everyone worn out from the weekend. The smell of the beach lingers so strongly on Sarukui’s skin that Haruki’s control is tested in the best and worst ways. Even though Sarukui falls asleep as soon as the sun is gone, and wouldn’t notice the small weight of Haruki’s head, the latter is reluctant in allowing himself any more than he already had today.

The moment after all the names are announced is filled with dread. Not Haruki’s, but mostly the third years who weren’t chosen for the team. No one is surprised when Bokuto is chosen, and even Washio gets a numbered shirt. What follows is the first string, including the team.

Haruki’s, Sarukui’s, and Konoha’s name are all mentioned. Konoha doesn’t show it, face fill with pride and a sense of righteousness, but he’s relieved. The second string leaves for another gym, led by the coach. Head coach Yamiji explains a few things, drills, and that no one should take it easy now or they’d be demoted. Starting with a run around the gym, Haruki preserves his energy and doesn’t try to keep up with Bokuto for once. Sarukui pats Konoha’s back, who holds his head proud and high. It’s not only the start of a new week, but also the real start of his volleyball career in high school.

 

There’s an upgrade in tempo and expectation, and Haruki loves to meet those bars on his own terms. The drills are harder, and they’re supposed to be done quicker. They form teams of three, toss, receive, spike, rotate. The post-practice extra rounds are extended under head coach’s permission, and whenever Bokuto gets Washio to block for him, Konoha joins in more naturally, with fewer complaints. 

Sarukui isn’t particularly in love with tossing, but he likes to help out, meaning Haruki’s eagerness to stay behind still doesn’t degrade one bit. The second year setter makes time to stay with Bokuto as well, now that he’s a regular. 

Even school is more enjoyable, although there’s more studying to be done, even during lunch breaks. Haruki can’t take naps anymore. Even so, staying awake has its perks, as Sarukui is in the same room with him. They eat together all the time, either going to the roof or to a nearby store, adding extra to their bentos. Haruki knows by now he has utterly fallen for Sarukui, and the days spend in his close vicinity aren’t as wrecking anymore. From the morning to late evening, through practice, school hours, and upcoming matches, Haruki feels good and in a proper place, even when his heart still beats out of time every now and then.

All it takes are some sneezes in the beginning of the following week to ruin things for him. Of course it’s the worse when he gets sick. 

*~*~*

His mother isn’t pleased. She tells him exactly how he’s done things the wrong way; practicing so much, not coming home in time and bathing early, the beach stuff. In the way mothers do, she complains while puffing his pillows and kissing his sweaty forehead, tucking him in even when he tells her not to, and bringing him hot, honey-sweetened tea in the morning. His mother leaves phone numbers of bento delivery services just in case, too. ‘Tell them where the key is hidden and to bring it upstairs if you’re too dizzy, Haruki,’ she says before closing his door room, shaking her head that her son actually gotten himself sick.

Instead of spending his days sleeping, he feels miserable at the thought of losing all what he’d grown accustomed to and now has to miss out on. He finds himself too stubborn to not do things himself, so Haruki, defended by a grey plaid covering him from head to his knees, walks out of his room and into the living room to watch recorded matches of his favourite volleyball team.

Washio messages him lists of fruits to eat to help him recover, but also said he should have been eating them constantly to avoid this. Bokuto, who’d send him random messages during school days either way, texts even more to cheer him up and not feel alone. Konoha only sends shorty-jokes and shrimp images, but Haruki doesn’t feel mad in the slightest. Even when he sends back numerous threats, he knows Konoha only does this because Haruki is at home and can’t get to him. It’s a taunt of ‘get better and then come teach me a lesson’. 

Sarukui’s e-mails are the ones Haruki just stares at the longest and takes his time replying too. He finds himself lying on his side, plaid all around him and his face heating up. The match on screen is forgotten, while Haruki keeps looking over Sarukui’s troubled kaomojis. ‘Please get better soon, it’s a little boring without you (๑ˊ ᐞ ˋ )’

 

Thing’s don’t look up after a night of fever, and Haruki is even more bummed out when not all his friends show up at his sickbed the next day. Washio comes in grave and nodding his greeting, while Bokuto checks out Haruki’s room. 

Able to keep himself from asking only about Sarukui, Haruki asks where the other two are, trying to not sound too bitter. Washio explains. Given a free afternoon, Konoha has been hustled away by his sisters to look for a present for their mother, and Sarukui’s older brother has taken his sibling on a fishing trip. Of course Sarukui not being here is what worsens Haruki’s mood, even though Washio brought Sarukui’s school notes for Haruki’s sake.

 

“Tell me about practice.” Haruki demands as he stares at Washio, whatever good staring is when you’re chained to your sick bed, head on fluffy pillows, and your club member still taller as he sits down close on the floor. Bokuto bounces forward, legs pretzel entwined. His face lights up as if he has been waiting for Haruki to ask, to let everything he’s been holding back out of respect explode out.

“It was amaaaazing. I’m getting the hang of cross spikes! They’re so fun when they go past the blockers, untouched by everyone.” Bokuto’s overjoyed face sours when he glances at Washio. “Most blockers, I gotta say. You did, what, blocked like ten?”

“Thirteen, and four one touches.”

Bokuto grumbles, his styled hair seeming to fall in defeat. Haruki grins, scratching the crown of his head. “Who was good at block follows?”

“No one, really. Coach said he hadn’t noticed how bad everyone else was when you’re not there.” Washio allows one corner of his mouth to go upwards, and Haruki mimics it. No matter how hard he tries, sliding forward, looking up, keeping your hand as flat as a pancake and not a knuckle out of line… it was harder than he thought it would be. The coach had given him lots of grief. Sakamoto-senpai would be quick to assure him that practice makes perfect. 

“Konoha-kun touched a lot of them though.” Bokuto leans back on his arms, contemplating the plays in his head. 

“Yes, and they all carried out of bounds. It was hard to go after them.” Washio looks down on his legs. Haruki knows how he feels. Some of the members were good in volleyball, but as the level went to new heights and stronger teammates challenged them to keep up, keeping balls in-bounds became harder and harder to accomplish. He was going to ask about Sarukui, when Bokuto continued talking.

“Saru managed to keep one in-bounds though, when I played in his team.”

“Yes, and you stood at the net, unmoving, and let it bounce off your head.” 

“I didn’t think he’d make it! Plus I wouldn’t have been able to do a proper approach and spike it… and merely tossing it over is boring.”

A surge of irritation comes up to Haruki’s chest. It was hard to tell if this came from lying in bed with his fingers itching to touch the ball, Bokuto’s selfishness, or the image of Sarukui trying hard to connect and having no one to be there for him. The combination of all those including missing Sarukui the most and him not being here, makes Haruki put an extra harsh edge of malice to his spitting words. 

“When your teammate goes for the ball you _always_ have to be ready to receive it. You can’t just stand still and do nothing about other people’s efforts, Bokuto. It’s not always about the spikers scoring points, you know? It’s a team effort, and it kinda goes to waste if you don’t trust the team.” Angered, Haruki sits up on his elbows, fire in his eyes.

Letting his head fall behind him more deeply and looking even more miserable than he had before, Bokuto’s whine comes from the depth of his stomach. “Enoooough already! Coach grinded me through this AND I apologized to Saru! Stop ganging up on me. And you’re sick, don’t get so heated up, Komi-yan.” 

“I am not- what did you say?”

“You areeee ganging up on me! And I said. You are sick. Don’t overheat yourself!” Bokuto repeats, misunderstanding what Haruki meant on every point. It wouldn’t help sitting up to clarify, and Haruki falls back, sighing. It has been some time that he wasn’t just ‘Komi’ or ‘Komi-kun’. It was this week where he started missing the more informal, friendly ‘Haru’ and other of such comradery names given by his friends. ‘Komi-yan’ had a good vibe to it. Maybe Sarukui would call out to him like this, too.

Maybe he should start out by saying ‘Saru’, as well.

 

Washio finds one of the many volleyballs in Haruki’s room and starts to play around with it; he rolls it around himself, as if playing with a puppy, which looks quite hilarious. 

Being used to tall guys is one thing; Haruki had noticed that Washio, once upon time (also known as four months ago) would have been his type. He was broad in the shoulders and took care of his muscles _and_ his hair, and his biceps were more developed than the other first years. Bokuto was everything Haruki could fall for personality-wise, but knew it be trouble because their personalities weren’t that far apart. Plus Bokuto was prone to sudden mood swings, which Haruki’s temperament couldn’t always handle. Nonetheless, he found himself in a crush-free zone, being able to view both of them as just friends. Club members. Future teammates. 

He hates being sick.

 

Remembering the sign for a toss, Haruki flicks his wrist and displays his pinky. Washio’s eyes notice and he tosses forward. He’s gotten a lot better since the mountain-beach training camp and Haruki receives it overhand. They start passing back and forth, Washio full of concentration to make it perfect. He doesn’t want the ball to go awry and hurt Haruki in the process. Haruki, when he tosses back and actually makes the ball go awry because he’s sick, notices that Washio’s reaction is as lightning fast as when he blocks. His tosses are excellent.

“Hey, you’ve gotten quite good at those.” Bokuto notices too, itching to spike the ball out of their hands. Humming, Washio tosses back to Haruki.

“I was a setter in middle school, first year.”

The shock of the statement makes Haruki miss, tossing the ball on top of Bokuto’s head. Both are too occupied being wide eyed and stare at Washio, who looks at the ball rolling out of reach. 

“What!?” Haruki explains, at the same that Bokuto says “But your tosses were shit on the beach!”

Without a tint of a blush on him, Washio looks down. “I stopped being a setter when someone else was better than me. I also started growing a lot then, and the coach said that if I wanted to be on the team, I could have the middle blocker position. As a setter, he’d benched me. I wanted to stay as a regular, so I decided to give my all to blocking and other things.” He looks at Bokuto, sheepish. “I didn’t want you to find out I can toss well because… I wanted to block you and perfect that instead.” 

Then he looked at Haruki. “Don’t tell Sarukui. I’ll apologize for making him toss all this time myself.” 

Bokuto is still too shocked to speak, while Haruki can partly understand Washio, while also seeing him in a new light. He wouldn’t have thought Washio would be anything but a blocker prodigy, or wouldn't have given up something else he was passionate about to become a better middle blocker. Haruki wouldn’t judge him for it, either, and promised that he wouldn’t tell Sarukui.

Either to relieve the atmosphere or because he’s actually volleyball crazy for real, Bokuto notices a whole collection of volleyballs under Haruki’s bed. It also shows his forgiveness that he isn’t angry at Washio for keeping his skills to himself. Haruki doesn’t think being this kind of selfish is bad, either. When Bokuto pulls out a net of 20 volleyballs, smaller than the ones they use, he gives Haruki a questioning look.

“There’s a sports center nearby, and they have a club for the children in the neighbourhood. I started out there, too. Anyway, I’m helping out during the weekends whenever I can, and noticed the balls the kids were using lost air a lot.” Their pump had broken and none of the adults had time to buy a new one and pump all the balls. Haruki had offered to take them home, a few at a time, and re-pump air into them. This was the last batch. “I’m supposed to bring them back this weekend.”

 

“Mhnnnn, maybe I should also try and help out.” Bokuto says, putting the net back and retrieving the volleyball that had bounced off of his head. Haruki hears his mother coming up the stairs, knowing she’s going to politely ask Haruki’s friends to leave. The boys hear it too, and Washio gets up, ready to leave. Bokuto puts the ball on the bed. “Get well soon!”

Waving at Haruki, Washio is the first out of the door, nodding to Haruki’s mother and apologizing for the intrusion. Then his two friends leave the room. Downstairs they’re seen out by Haruki’s father, while his mother still stands in the doorway. She gives her son a look, tray with soup in her hands. 

“Neither of those were your Sarukui, were they?” She says, and Haruki grumbles. He can hide things from his friends well, but not from his own mother. 

“I hate being fucking sick.” He mumbles, turning to his side and wrapping his hands around his face. Sighing, his mother enters his room and puts the soup on his bedside table. She touches his shoulder lightly, then in true Komi-fashion, raps his burning head with her knuckles.

“Language, Haru. Or the boy you like will find a politer kid.” Laughing, she leaves the room.

Thinking that for it to happen, Haruki would first have to woo Sarukui for himself, he starts giving off more steam than the soup his mother left does. He hides beneath the blanket, pulling his legs up and hearing the volleyball fall off his bed as he does. It would be great if he could just confess to Sarukui and have him fall in love, too. It’s a thought too stupid to even hope for. “Yeah right, like that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

*~*~*

When it’s only Bokuto and Washio visiting the next day as well, Haruki is unable to hide his true feelings. They arrive after dinner time, given they had practice today. When he asks about the whereabouts of the other too, Washio remains silent for a second too long before he answers. 

“Konoha had plans with a soccer mate, but he gives his kind regards again and hopes you’re not shriveling up as a shrimp or baking like one.” Washio ducks a volleyball Haruki throws out of fury. “His words, not mine. And Sarukui said he had chores at his grandparents house, sorry to not come here himself. Here’s his notes, though. The teacher also gave you extra homework so you won’t fall behind.” 

Haruki eyes the stack of papers indignantly, his thoughts with Sarukui. Pulling up his plaid around himself before sitting up, he looks through them this time and asks Washio to explain things whenever he doesn’t understand something. Bokuto busies himself holding a volleyball up on his forehead, answering math questions whenever Washio’s not fast enough. 

They’re surprised when he does, but not mention it. Although Bokuto is in class 1, there were rumours on the first year's corridor he excels in a few subjects, and one in particular had been a surprise to his own class. Apparently, it was mathematics. Bokuto explains formulas in a clean and easy way, somehow working in volleyball metaphors. When Haruki looks at his textbook and Sarukui’s notes, he understands things easier than before. In an instant, Haruki vows himself to never call Bokuto dumb again, and kick anyone’s ass who does.

Then again, he might have kicked anyone’s ass who’d be dumb enough to call out a member of the volleyball club anyway. He wants to go back so badly that it hurts his bones, which might as well hurt from all the sneezing and coughing. They’re definitely not hurting because he’s growing.

The visit is longer than before, and they leave when Haruki feels sleepy. Bokuto is already yelling his goodbye, while Washio stands in the doorway. He looks at Haruki as if he wants to say something, but then decides not to, simply closing the door behind him. Haruki can’t give it much thought as he shoves his homework off his bed and to his bedside table, switching the light off and going to sleep right away.

*~*~*

Bokuto has both his hands on his feet when he stretches forward, scorning Konoha when he is not needed to push him down. Tatsuki is busy trying not to hurt Sarukui, whose flexibility is the worst. It’s Friday night, and as they cool down, Bokuto leans his forehead on the court, pissing Konoha off some more. Before Konoha can call him a show off or worse things, Bokuto remembers what Komi said about the weekend.

“I thought about going there again and helping him out.” Bokuto says, stretching his hands above his head. Worried, Tatsuki remembers in time the plans they once made about the gym. He hadn’t mentioned them without Komi being here. 

“My older brother wants to take me to his gym this weekend. Weren’t you and Konoha interested in joining?” Tatsuki knows very well it had been Sarukui who worried about his appearance, but before any of the three can say so, he turns to said boy. “You could visit Komi, perhaps? He’s been asking about you.” 

He words it dangerously, but knows Konoha’s personality, which flares up and helps him as he expected. 

“And what about me?” 

“Oh, he is looking forward to seeing you too, Konoha. He’s been fuming about those shrimp texts, so I think you should learn self defense this weekend, too.” Tatsuki grins when Konoha blanks at the thought of his jokes biting him back. Then he grumbles. His focus returns to Bokuto and on going to the gym to gain muscles quickly and be ready to face Komi if he comes back to school next week.

Sarukui puts his legs together, then his hands go to his ankles, which is as far as he can stretch. “Can you give me Komi’s address later?”

“Sure.” Tatsuki says, then pushes Sarukui’s whining form forward to properly stretch. 

They make plans for the week after, too, as Tatsuki’s and Bokuto’s big brothers would be in town, bringing their cars, and would be able to escort them to the arcades on a Saturday afternoon. The plans include Komi without Komi’s knowing, a welcome back present outing. Going to the club room, Tatsuki mentions in passing how Sarukui should keep his visit a surprise. Having done a few good deeds, Tatsuki changes his outfits, careful not to mess with his hair. 

*~*~*

 

Whatever shame and regret goes hand in hand with euphoria once he’s done jacking off, multiplies an hour later when the envisioned desired boy of his dream stands in his door way. Sunday mornings had never before been this pleasurable and tortuous. Like the dream, the real Sarukui is all happy smiles, thick eyebrows, and unkempt black hair. Unlike in his dream, he stands there all dressed, polite, and doesn’t ravage Haruki the second their eyes meet.

Fever not as bad as before, Haruki still heats up at the thought of his morning actions, when Sarukui enters his room. He completely misses what the other is saying, and hides behind the fact that he looks ill and had become cotton-eared. He’s both punished and rewarded when Sarukui’s cool hand places itself on top of his warm forehead. 

“You still have a fever.”

“Bit, yeah. I’m getting better though.” Haruki muffles under his sheets, inhaling as if his lungs had forgotten how to process air. Sarukui’s smile widens, making his eyes shut for a second. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Practice is less fun without you there.” 

While Haruki tells his heart to shut the hell up, Sarukui rolls his chair away from the desk to sit next to Haruki’s bed. The latter wouldn’t have minded if he’d plant his ass on the mattress, of course. They talk about practice, Haruki liking Sarukui’s versions of Bokuto’s ‘heroic deeds’ on the court. 

Once Haruki’s head isn’t hammering, his blush lessens, and his heart realizes it can beat like a normal organ again, Haruki’s eyes drift over Sarukui’s clothing choice. He wears a shirt that’s too large for him, but the real peculiarity is the mountain of candy printed on it. Haruki can’t read all the english words, but he knows enough to identify ‘I am cute, sugar and’. Below the shirt are taupe khaki shorts. It didn’t fit with the shirt at all, and made Sarukui’s proportions (which Haruki knew by heart; thank you, beach outing) look all weird, too.

“Say, are you always so punctual because you don’t give a shit whatever clothes you put on? Dude, you could do yourself a favour and put some extra effort into your casual clothing.” Haruki says, making Sarukui blink and look down, as if he hadn’t even checked what abominations he ran through town with.

“I didn’t think it mattered… Eh, let’s see. The pants… I don’t know where they from. I think someone in the family gave me a box of old clothes from my other grandfather, or my uncles. Stuff they didn’t wear anymore but fit me. And uh, my grandmother gave me this shirt ‘cus she thought it was cute and colourful.” Sarukui explains, taking some time wondering how on earth these pieces of clothing made it into his possession. 

“Yeah, dressed by your grandparents. _I can see that._ ” Haruki laughs, even though he feels bad when Sarukui’s mood seems to sink. “I should take you shopping sometime. Good-looking guy like- I mean to say, Tokyo kids like us can’t run around looking like fools. The world is looking at our streets, you know!”

‘Good-looking guys like you’. Maybe Haruki would have the guts to say it one day, but it was still too early for that. He could have said ‘like us’, but even that was still too forward. Haruki didn’t mind forward (either being it or going), but the playing field wasn’t leveled yet. 

“Eeeh…” Sarukui was truly troubled by it, picking at his shirt. The shirt was kinda alright, since Haruki thought Sarukui was cute and sweet-looking. Then he’s told about next weekend’s plans. Haruki’s heart warms a the face that the guys thought about including him too, even though he hadn’t been there. He wonders if it was a surprise Sarukui just ruined, but it doesn’t matter when the face of his crush falls to new lows. “But what should I do now? I don’t want them to make fun of me.”

“I could come to your place and assemble an outfit? Well, I could try.” Haruki tries, he really does. But slyness is more Konoha’s virtue. Being reserved is Washio’s. And he can’t be like Bokuto and make it sound like a super enjoyable experience, difficult to miss out on. He only can be himself, and his own self is spoilt, hungry, and wanting. There’s so much more to know about Sarukui, and even if includes more horrible clothes and accessories, Haruki wants to know it all. 

“Our places are pretty far apart though, and the meeting place in the city makes it even more of a detour for you.” Sarukui says, eyes rolling up in thought to where they were meeting, considering which trains to take in order to get there from here. Haruki thinks too; it's such a bother, but Sarukui still came over here, on a free day to boot. Sarukui’s mind switches to his apparent problem. “Maybe if I try to think about it the evening before-” 

Haruki snorts at the thought of creating an outfit the night beforehand. It was even cuter coming from Sarukui, who also suggested taking pictures and sending the outfit ideas to Haruki. His laughter make Sarukui shoot down his own idea. He also won’t allow Haruki’s offer to take place, which is a shame. 

When he sits up, Sarukui rushes to help, brings water, and asks if he needs anything. Haruki sighs. “I was supposed to swing by the neighbourhood practice center, the volleyballs-” 

Sarukui nods, shoving his feet off the bed to make the chair roll backwards. He looks down below Haruki’s bed, who’s really glad he cleaned up before any of his friends came. No need to find his boxes full of secrets. Sarukui said Washio and Bokuto told him about Haruki’s good deeds to humankind, which was the reason of his visit. 

“I obviously also came to say hi and see how you were doing.” Sarukui is quick to add. “You pumped all the balls by yourself?”

“Course I did. Had little else to do this week apart from being sick and having my mother nag both my ears off.” Speaking of his mother, Haruki was still eager to make her let him go outside today. “Hey, listen. You wanna accompany me? My mom thinks I’m gonna get sick again by going out, but I’m bored to death here, plus I need fresh air. The sports center isn’t far off, and if you’ll go with me, maybe she’s less worried.”

“Mhnn, I don’t mind. Are you sure you can go though?” 

“Sure as hell.” Haruki gets out of bed, thanking the gods he changed his shorts after his playtime this morning. He takes out clean clothes from his wardrobe, thoughtless of what they are except the black and white colour combination. Turning around to get the net full of balls, he finds Sarukui with it slung over his shoulder, watching him.

“So how’s that a better outfit than mine?” He asks, not with spite, but out of pure curiosity. Haruki grins and points at the shorts. 

“I’m not wearing khaki’s, man.” He laughs when they go out of his room and downstairs. Haruki hardens his resolve to see the blue skies again and feel fresh breezes on his skin. His mother had been hard on him all week, and wouldn’t even let him sit at the dinner table, never mind the freaking garden. Finding her outside hanging clothes, he flinches when her face is set to hurricane season, seeing him dressed and outside his room. Before she can start a tirade, he puts on his sweetest voice, knowing how well it works with the female side of his family.

“Mooom, I really need to do this. The children are counting on me. Sarukui said he’d come with, so you don’t need to worry.”

At the sound of ‘Sarukui’, his mother looked over Haruki’s head, to the boy standing behind him. Haruki could only imagine the sheepish smile and the small nod. Then his mother eyes zoomed in on him once more, a small grin on her face. Haruki knew how much he looked like her when they had dirty smirks on their faces. He doesn’t even want to think about how Sarukui got past his mother coming here, or what kind of questions this woman would have asked. 

“Is that so?” She punctuates every word with a question mark, folding towels over the drying line. Knowing how hard it is for Haruki to have a crush, and how much he needs his space, she folds, too. “Yes, okay. You can go. Sarukui-kun, do you need our home phone number?”

His mother gives it even under Haruki’s protest that he will be fine. He shakes her off when they go to the hallway, Haruki’s face irritated while Sarukui is nothing but smiles and politeness. Then at the door, Haruki finds another fashion no-no. Sarukui came here wearing those appalling open sandals, in a murky, dark brown colour. Even when he puts them on, Haruki can’t think of any other description: Old man shoes.

Seeing Haruki’s face, Sarukui sweats a little when he tries to explain. “The sandals belonged to my grandfather, but he doesn’t fit them anymore. So, he gave them to me.”

“And as a good and obliging grandson you accepted without thinking of the fashion disaster.” Haruki shakes his head, tsking his tongue, blindly putting his feet into his sneakers. Opening the door, he puts his free hand on Sarukui’s biceps, lingering. “Don’t worry, if you can’t fix yourself by next week, I’ll help.”

The air outside is pleasant, and Haruki waves his arms upwards in happiness of stepping outside again. Sarukui doesn’t let him carry the net under any circumstances, so all Haruki has to do is lead the way. They walk out of his street, over a pedestrian crossing, past a breezy miniature park with high trees, and lastly, over a children’s playground. The neighbourhood sports center is just around the corner.

Although Sarukui drops off the net for the others to pick up, it’s the teachers who gather the balls into nearby baskets. None of the children seem to be interested in the volleyballs, which they would need for their Sunday workshop. As one group they surrounded Haruki, sad when he explains that he can’t stay. Without a pause, small hands wrap around his arm. The weight makes him bend forward, showing an apologetic face to all the little players he has to upset with his absence. 

“Sorry sorry! Next Sunday I’ll definitely come.” This is met with a list of things he has to teach and show them. “Yes yes yes, I will correct all your forms, don’t worry.” 

When they finally notice Sarukui, half of them hide behind Haruki because his height scares them. The rest stare without shame. One boy with a lisp asks how tall Sarukui is, and once he speaks, the other children warm up to him. Some leave Haruki’s arms alone to hold Sarukui’s larger hands. Apparently, Sarukui is good with children. As Haruki is caught staring, Sarukui explains once the caretakers make the children pick up the balls and start warming up.

They all wave enthusiastically at Haruki and Sarukui, who then head outside and back towards home.

“I have an older brother, and also two younger siblings, a boy and a girl. My brother manages to always be preparing for some sort of entrance exams, so I’m usually stuck taking care of them.”

“Your siblings came here to the city as well? Do you all live with your grandparents?” 

“Mhn, my dad works in the most western side of Tokyo, so he commutes. My mom lives and works in Kanagawa. She visits a few times on the weekends. Sometimes my parents not rather hang out together. My grandparents have a huge house and a large garden. It’s always been more fun there for us than at our parent’s house. When I wanted to go to Fukuroudani, my dad said it would be better to take my siblings too, who didn’t mind changing schools.”

“Really? Young kids usually do.” Haruki remembers one of the kids in his neighbourhood who had to leave due to their father’s work transfer, and had been super sad to leave his friends here. 

“My siblings get along well together and make friends fast. They think a lot of things are exciting if they’re new or proposes a challenge. My little sister always wanted to live in Tokyo city. What also helps a lot, I guess, is that my siblings like me a lot, too.”

 _Hard not to._ Haruki thinks, breathing through his nose. Today was warmer than usual, and he feels his skin crawling from it. Because Sarukui doesn’t even sweat, Haruki does his best to act normal and not complain about the warmth. Instead he listens to his crush’s adorable recounts of what it means to be a big brother when their oldest sibling spends more time in his room or at cram school than anywhere else. Head heavy, Haruki nods, his hard breathing somewhat louder than usual. He feels clammy, as if they’re in the middle of summer already. 

And then he feels sick, understanding that the imagined humidity isn’t the weather, but a process inside of him. Looking around, Haruki’s eyes droop, and his arm blindly reaches out to Sarukui, who stops and speaks. Asking if Haruki is alright.

“I don’t know. Saru,” He can’t even pronounce Sarukui’s full name, his vision filling with flickering of black dots. He pushes the next sentence out before his lips become incapable of moving. “I don’t feel so awesome…”

 

When Haruki comes to, he’s horizontal. His body feels cooler, lying on a bench in the shadows. Above him, lights flicker through the thicket of leaves of the nearby tree. On his right is the backrest of the bench, so Haruki turns to the left, and Sarukui’s worried face is incredibly near. He doesn’t remember going down, being hauled up, or placed on a bench, but on a bench is where Haruki finds himself. The hard wood etches into his back, his fingers curling around each side for a second to test his strength, which is weak. Sarukui crouches closer once he notices Haruki is conscious again. 

"Are you okay?" 

" ..Yeah?" Haruki asks in return, unsure what to make of waking up like this.

"You fainted. I-"

"No I didnt." Haruki interrupts as soon as he hears the word ‘fainted’. He’s too embarrassed for words, voice and face full of irritation and denial. Fainting in front of his crush; the total opposite of being cool. Not happening. _Thats so stupid…_

Sarukui's laugh doesn't do much to comfort his shameful heart, although it makes him feel brighter. "You did. Don't worry, no one else saw. You still have your street cred around this children's park."

Grunting at Sarukui’s light take and jokes, Haruki lifts his head to look around, but Sarukui doesn't let him sit up fully. The tree's branches above him hung low over the bench he was lying on, waving with the breezes. It hadn’t been hot at all, only his body’s inappropriately-timed overreaction. Children were playing on the other side of the tree; being a child definitely belongs to the easier times when Haruki didn't have so many worries.

Glancing down in defeat, he notices a wet patch on the corner of Sarukui's sugar shirt. Brows furrowing, he blinks at Sarukui, then down again, who follows the line of sight.

"Oh, that. I didn't have a wet cloth or handkerchief on me to put on your forehead, so I watered my shirt and dabbed your face instead." 

Haruki's head goes into an overdrive of imagination. Sarukui, shirt up, wetness to his clothes, droplets on his skin, the beach and the sea and the sun and the heat, a brilliant smile turned to unease. Sarukui, leaning over him, standing above him, above him, above-

"I think you still have a fever, Komi. You're all red in the face." Saru says, and Haruki doesn't want to deny it because he'd need to explain why his cheeks heat up. He tries to sit up again, and pushes his chest against Sarukui's hand this time, pushing through. Making sure to clip his irritation out of his voice, Haruki puts on a smile on his face, knowing it'll infect his tone.

"I'm fine. Not dizzy anymore. Really, Sarukui, I’m good." It was a rare, quiet, spectacular moment; Haruki sat on the bench, his fingers curled below the underside of the wood. Sarukui crouches right in front of him, hands either close or making contact with Haruki's legs or shoulder. Sarukui wore his unsureness in believing Haruki without a hint of hiding it. The thought of calling Haruki’s mother was apparent in the way his brows curl. As to let Haruki save face, Sarukui sighs, head low. 

_I want to tap his chin up and kiss him._

The emotion is so strong in Haruki’s chest, forcing him to reel back and create physical distance from his desire. Above, birds chirp, and to the right cars pass by in leisure. The children's high pitched screams of joy and the clanks of the playground are in his spine, which he straightens, squaring his shoulders and his resolve. Sarukui doesn’t move, unaware of the danger. 

“I, eh-” Haruki starts, having to face in another direction than that gorgeous-looking face. Rasping his throat, he waits for his brain to play catch up and offer a way out of this awkward situation. 

“We should head back home. Have you eaten? You may be dehydrated.” Sarukui offers him his water bottle as he stands up, and then his hand. Haruki doesn’t take either because he needs it, but because he wants to. Standing once more, Sarukui doesn’t step back to let them return on their homeward walk. He looks reluctant to proceed just yet. “I don’t… Are you really okay, Komi? I can give you a lift. I think I should, considering.”

Usually, Haruki’s reaction to this would have been more irritation and a biting reaction. 

Usually, he isn’t prone to letting people pick him up, too prideful a creature for that. Even if he’s close friends with someone, Haruki wouldn’t allow them to lift him off the floor, if he wasn’t running or jumping for it himself. Usually, it’s not crushes that offer piggyback rides, and so Haruki’s selfish needs brought forward by a wish of closeness make him agree to be picked up on Sarukui’s back. No one gives them weird glances. Haruki is to sure to make his face as level as possible, knowing his brows look less than pleased. Then again, there are other worries on his mind. Sarukui thinks he’s still sick, which would mean he’d still needed to stay in bed instead of going back to school, and practice. 

Not possible.

"Hey, don't tell my mother this. Or-"

"Psh, what do you take me for?” Sarukui’s light voice interrupts. Reassuring. “‘Course I won't tell anyone." 

Allowing himself more selfish deeds, Haruki acts the tired child, resting his chin on Sarukui’s crown. His arms are lazy hanging off Sarukui’s shoulders, who carries him all the way to Haruki’s doorstep. 

The initial thought when Haruki met him was that Sarukui must be an angel. This manifests when they are in front of Haruki’s house and he’s carefully being lowered and allowed to hop off. Sarukui reveals a face at ease once more; an angel, through and through.

“Thanks, Saru.” Haruki smiles, letting the abbreviation Bokuto uses often pass. Sarukui’s head tilts to the side, his arms hanging next to him at ease.

“Everything for you, Komi-yan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope this fic is still enjoyable for all the readers ;; I know Sarukomi is hard to come by so I hope to bring at least some quality next to the quantity... I'd say I'm always open for suggestions, but this fic is already done and written, so 8''DD I'd leave myself open for concrit, however, I'm fairly happy with this fic as it is and I'm proud of it nonetheless what other people think uvu
> 
> I always check my fics so often and still find minor mistakes after... I think I can read over the fic a 100 times (i did it 50x so far www) and could still find mistakes... I even find mistakes if I print it out on paper and then check later another time. All I wanna say is: if you see any mistakes, I don't care anymore xD'' Like you can tell me and I will change it but if you're not bothered by it, I won't either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komi judges Sarukui's outfit choices, and the owls go on a shopping trip together. In a mall, Bokuto and Washio take turns on getting lost, and Komi has to calm his feeble heart inside a changing cabin. Konoha wonders about 'girly' shirts, Bokuto makes a statement, and Komi finally wonders if he should come out to his friends, and thereby also to Sarukui.
> 
> Oh and Washio knows things.
> 
> ((Fashion heavy chapter! I love 'The devil wears Prada' okay??))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is one of my favourite chapters. I loooved writing the trips they take together, Washio and Bokuto running around while Komi gets a few heart-attacks with Saru.
> 
> Okay so I have a few things I wanna talk about (which ofc, you can skip!) before presenting this chapter:
> 
> I want to state that I usually like Bokuto being gay or bi, but in my fics I don't like to go with the 'everyone's gay' thing (altho I don't judge it if other people do, I'm just not quick to write or read those kinda things. Same as 'everyone's hetero'!) 
> 
> I made a specific choice in what Bokuto says and how I view him in this universe/fic .v. also, please don't judge Konoha too harshly?? For him too, altho I have a gay ship for him, I wanted to make him as human as possible and get as close to what a boy his age living in Japan might think or say. Bokuto and Washio keep him in check and make sure he doesn't get uncomfy uvub I liked having a balance of realistic and idealistic thoughts in this, while keeping it all good, sweet, and not too angst-y.
> 
> To all my American friends or those who know more about American culture than the Japanese one, please note that the term yankee is also used in Japan, for the rowdy Japanese youth that does whatever it wants and is kinda on the wild side~ Google for images ovo
> 
> Finally, a heads up that towards the end: the chapter is 10% unbeta'd :'DDD but last time my friend checked it was in July and I don't want to drag the updates out this much... So yeah, I don't like uploading things that aren't 100% checked through, but on the other hand: all of us fic-writers do this in our own free time, and although English isn't my native language (more like, third), I hope people understand if things aren't perfect (they never are uvu). If there are any things that are horribly wrong grammar/word/sentence-wise, you may point them out to me uvub
> 
> Have fun reading!!! We're 4/6th of the way and things are getting more and more interesting~~~

He runs practically all the way to school, an half hour early, only to find out he’s not the first to arrive. Within seconds of dropping his bag, an out of breath Haruki is smothered in arms twice the size of his own and a loud shout of ‘Welcome back!’ Once Bokuto is done cracking his arms and ribs, Haruki’s feet touch ground again. He’s filled in on the early morning practices Bokuto added to the customary extra evening ones. He somehow persuaded Hasegawa to give Washio the key, who always gives it to a more punctual Sarukui once they’re out of sight. Haruki’s hair is greeted and rubbed by everyone present, and even Washio says he’s glad to see him back in action.

At last, Sarukui walks over, waving. Haruki’s heart is racing because he can play again and go wild, and because Sarukui’s genuine smiles in the morning make everything brighter.

 

The week goes by in a flash. Bokuto announces what Haruki already knew: that his welcome back gift is the arcades. Haruki adds that they should go shopping, saying he needs stuff for himself to cover for Sarukui, who might just come well dressed the next weekend. They agree on time and place to meet up, which department store is the best, and what time the two older brothers would pick them up. Sadly, Shirofuku cannot join in because of a friend’s birthday party, and Haruki hears him give a reminder to Bokuto about the rice ball debt of this week. 

 

On Sunday, Haruki keeps true to his word and takes a roundabout way to the city center, to share at least some alone time with Sarukui. His head feels groggy and excited at once; yesterday night he and Sarukui had messaged each other back and forth until after midnight. There was no real content to it; silly things and jokes, talk about manga they’d read that week or wanted to read next week. Sarukui had ended their sessions saying it’s funny Haruki moans about not napping during class, but then stays awake for so long. Laughing into his pillow, unseen in the dark by anyone, Haruki knew exactly why his energy levels peaked. Speaking to Sarukui was his personal healing and recharge.

He texts him now, too, saying which train he’s on and in which carriage. Giddy, Haruki’s feet tap the walkway, his head looking up when they pull into the aboveground station where Sarukui said he’d meet him. 

All hopes of Sarukui redeeming himself and his outfit choices fall to naught the second he boards the train. The dark jeans are plain, and not that bad. What looks like a hand-knit cardigan hangs loosely around Sarukui’s arms and goes half over the ass, the colours mismatched, with lots of white stripes intersecting the other horizontal ones. It’s more a cardigan Haruki would see on the trendsetting girls in their capital, who would wear nothing beneath it. He doesn’t let the thought of Sarukui wearing only this and nothing else bait him. 

The grandpa sandals were left behind and in exchange Sarukui’s legs end in old, dirty converse shoes, who seem like they’re about to die. The sole is either full of holes or barely put together, and Haruki inspects one of the heels to see the sole coming loose. 

Upon further inspection, the plain jeans are bad. They have washed out white stripes above the thigh that had been a trend once upon a time, and Haruki always disliked it. The looks go over Sarukui who stresses about it, then touches the end of his sleeve, apologetic that he failed to impress Haruki.

“...My grandmother made this. It’s really cozy.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Haruki laughs, pulling the sleeves up a little. He touches Sarukui’s upper and lower arm to move the fabric, revealing Sarukui’s underarms without folding the sleeves upwards. It looks a little better. “Don’t let anyone see the jeans, though. I didn’t know they made those stripes still. And those shoes! They’re ready to be thrown away, Saru.”

“But they’re comfortable~” Sarukui wines, his face not matching up with how upset he is. Haruki tries to calm him; assures him they’ll find new converse. If anything, he shall become Sarukui’s personal assistant and stylist for today. The optimism doesn’t translate to Sarukui’s face, who looks at his knees. “Is it that bad?” 

“It starts to rival Konoha, but just a little. You’ll be fine once I am done with you.”

They’re the last to arrive at the station entrance where they exit the subway station, heading towards the department store. Haruki clasps Konoha’s back, without saying what he’s accomplished today. While Konoha sputters, Haruki concentrates on Sarukui, who looks downtrodden. He tells him again it will be all fine with P.A. Komi on the case. Upon entering, Washio at the front has to hold Bokuto back from running around everywhere. They find out it's his first time alone shopping, and that his mother only let him go because there would be so many ‘responsible’ club members. 

“You told your mom we’re responsible people?” Konoha asks, puffy pride coming through his voice even when his face reveals nothing. They ascend on the escalator, heading to the men’s section on Haruki’s request. Konoha is eager to go because he saw something last time his sisters took him here, but then rants about his sisters not letting him check it out. 

Washio, ahead of them all, even taller at the top, looks somber when he turns to Konoha.

“My older brother is the same. He always said I wandered as a child and he could never take his eyes off me. When I was 14 and started growing, he bemoaned the fact that I was still getting lost all the time.” He blinks after speaking for so long in one go, and telling so much about his younger self. It takes until he turns around that half of them, erupt in laughter; Bokuto and Haruki behind him, hiding their hands behind mouths to muffle the sounds. Sarukui and Konoha can hardly believe it. 

“Bokuto, quick. Hold Washio’s hand before we lose him. Damn, I should have brought red rope to keep us together!” Konoha says, his mocking voice hiding a laugh behind words that sound super concerned. Washio evades Bokuto’s grabby fingers, steps ahead on the escalator and makes them all move. Konoha doesn’t stop. “Quickly now, he’s getting away! Once he’s lost we’ll never find him!”

Konoha pays for the jab at Washio’s height by getting his perfect tame hair ruffled to oblivion. Once they’re off the escalator, Konoha finds the nearest mirror to straighten his hair once more. He then focuses on Bokuto and Washio.

“Okay, you two, don’t drift off too far. Let’s do this section by section, alright?” Konoha tries his hardest to keep them together, but in vain. Bokuto sees something on a manikin in the distance, yells, and runs off. Washio heads the complete other direction, forcing Konoha to choose who to tail. Haruki laughs, taking Sarukui for clothes-shopping. 

“You’re not worried about them?” Sarukui asks, indeed worried that they won’t be able to find each other. Haruki shakes his head, looking at random pieces on their first round, imagining what Sarukui would look like in each. He assesses which colours or styles could be something worthwhile for Sarukui. Definitely popping colours mixed with light and dark garments.

“Meh, not really. Birds of a feather flock together. They’ll find the nest.” Haruki leads Sarukui criss cross through the men’s section, asking about sizes, then piling one thing after the other into Sarukui’s arms. The second round gives Sarukui a lot to hold, and he’s probably not allowed to bring all of it into the dressing room. At one point, arms heavy, Sarukui stops to ask.

“Eh, you think all of this will suit me?” 

Before Haruki can answer, the other guys join back in. Konoha is red in the face from running around, Washio is hopelessly lost, but he managed to find Bokuto. For all the jokes he pulled, Washio is probably hiding from Konoha on purpose. 

“Komi-yan, seriously.” Sarukui says again, putting some of the stuff down on a nearby bench in front of the changing cabins. He picks up a plain white shirt, sleeves to the elbows, and studs on the back spelling out some English words Haruki didn’t bother to check. Holding the shirt in front of his body, Sarukui ask once more. “This thing, really?”

“You’ll take what I give you and you’ll like it.” Haruki answers. Right after, Bokuto gasps, and Konoha grins.

“I know that quote!” Bokuto replies in joy, and Konoha finger guns at him.

“Watched it with your big sister, right? I had to watch it with mine, too, when the subtitles were out.” Konoha explains, asking why Haruki knows it.

“Uh, I was friends with a ton of girls in middle school and we had to watch it for English class, extra credit because I almost failed it.” Haruki explains, hand rubbing over his neck. He didn’t like the thought of why he could get along with girls so much or why he liked a movie like ‘The Devil wears Prada’. Stereotypes were stupid, after all. Konoha doesn’t go into it, as Bokuto is once again, gasping and running away after spotting a thing only he can see.

Konoha stares him off in the distance, then gives up. “Guess I’ll look around again for Washio. Sarukui, good luck on trying to change into all that before the store closes.”

Haruki and Konoha stick their tongues out at each other at the same time, Haruki adding a rude hand gesture and Konoha pulling his lower eyelid down in return. Once he’s left, Haruki ushers Sarukui into the changing cabins, but not before Sarukui has to add something.

“I watched that movie too, just in my free time with my lil’ sis. I wonder if Washio also saw it. He doesn’t have sisters, right?”

“Mhn, maybe. I thought it was pretty funny. To be honest, Washio never said what types of movies he liked, right?” Haruki wonders while Sarukui changes. They mark it on an mental to do list to ask later. 

“Okay, I don’t like this shirt. I’m not taking it.” Sarukui says and hands it back into Haruki’s hands behind the curtain.

Haruki’s protest comes out sputtering before he can form words, taking the unwanted piece of clothing. 

“Wha- did you even put it on? Hey, I have dibs on veto! At least show stuff to me before you change out of it. I need to assess what works and what doesn’t.” He complains, but Sarukui doesn’t answer him at all. Putting the shirt back on the hanger and then hanging it on a nearby rack for things that go back, Haruki stands near the cabin’s curtain, not even distancing himself far enough to sit on one of the stylish seats. Sarukui takes his time putting on the next set; some clothes, Haruki told him go in combination. 

“Aaah, I’m not sure about this, Komi-yan.” Sarukui’s skepticism makes Haruki roll his eyes. He’d love nothing more than to hang out behind the curtain. There’s enough reasons not to. For one, it would be his downfall, standing so close for no obvious reason while one of them is undressing. He’d also needs to give Sarukui his privacy and to not hurry him. Haruki stays put, even when patience isn’t his strongest suit. 

Some of the outfits fit Sarukui exceptionally well, others are complete failures. Even when Haruki tells him he looks good in them, a lot of choices get refused. At one point, Sarukui wonders why he’d need this many clothes to begin with, and argues he hardly has any occassion to wear them all.

“Yeah, but once an occasion comes up, you can choose appropriate things!” Haruki laughs, becoming bitter right after. He swallows the words like ‘girlfriends’ and ‘dates’; truths he’s not ready to face. More things go back to the clothes rack, and Haruki is bound to ask if any of his suggestions are to Sarukui’s taste. 

“Eeehm, am I supposed to tuck this shirt into the pants or not?”

“Mhnn, I’m not sure, which one is it?” Haruki asks, putting his phone away. Sarukui hasn’t shown off anything for a while. Surely he hasn’t been standing there contemplating in the mirror? 

“Wanna check?” Sarukui says after an age, and Haruki’s heart speeds up. 

“Yeah, sure. Hold on.” Steeling himself, Haruki checks his surroundings before pulling the curtain and rushing in, in case Sarukui is shy. Everything had been going well so far, until his prediction of what happens if he went into the changing room comes true, and he recognizes his mistake too late. 

It's one thing to see each other half naked on a daily basis. It's one thing to shower and take baths together with the team. It's a whole other thing standing super close to Sarukui in such a small space, on top of facing the guy you’re infatuated with, who didn't bother zipping up grey washed jeans Haruki picked for him. The same grey jeans which hang low on his hips, show off hip bones Haruki had wet dreams about. Finishing Haruki’s brain off, Sarukui also forgot to button up his shirt, the sides of it hanging wide apart. This semi-nudity is the kind that makes Haruki’s head spin.

“Eeeh...” Haruki doesn’t know what speaking was meant to do, and his mouth just hangs open as he looks up and down, down and up, facing Sarukui without a sensible thing to say. Looked perturbed, Sarukui holds the underside of the cream-white shirt, looking like a child who got it dirty. 

“Am I supposed to leave it out of the jeans or tuck it? I’m not an expert.” Sarukui sweats the small stuff, which makes Haruki’s instincts react at once. He tells him to button up first, then shows him both ways. Another mistake. The mirror allows Haruki to see Sarukui tucking in the shirt under the jeans, hand going dangerously low over the crotch. Ordering his fingers to keep still, Haruki acts as if nothing is wrong, and helps around the back, pushing the fabric down. It shouldn’t feel so good to have his knuckles run over the lowest side of Sarukui’s back, yet here he is, enjoying himself and dying at the same time.

“You don’t have a fever?” Sarukui asks, looking over his shoulder. 

“N-no. Air-con is probably not working or something. It’s super hot here.” _No shit._ Haruki adds in his head, distancing himself. 

Outside, a jury has assembled. Haruki is glad he has his face under control when he walks out and sees Washio and Konoha sitting next to the diminished pile of clothes. Konoha thinks everything is fine, and calls Haruki a nosy fashion know-it-all who can’t leave other people alone even when they’re undressing. Haruki ignores his judgement, waving it off without a second thought. Washio says it looks good, then rolls off one of the scarves he found and hung it loosely around himself and Konoha. 

Haruki didn’t notice the five shawls earlier. The one Washio throws at him is dark blue with white feathers. After a consideration, Haruki motions with the fabric between his hands, and Sarukui has to bow low to make the winding around possible. The judgement of an easy garment accessory such as a shawl goes easier with Sarukui, who strokes the fabric before looking at Washio. “Washio, did you perhaps also watch fashion movies?”

Washio nods, not having a sister to hide behind. Question answered, Haruki sends Sarukui off to a bigger mirror to see if he really likes the combination. As he’s gone, Washio admits being low key vain about his looks. Again, Konoha cannot stop himself from joking.

“What, you? Vain? About your looks!? No way man.” Konoha chuckles and makes a grab for the perfectly styled hair, but Washio deflects the hand with a firm grip. As he’s distracted, Haruki pulls one of the shawls off Konoha’s neck, counting five in total. Washio had wanted to only find one for himself, but ended up finding four others for his friends first. 

Konoha, his hand free, explains how he found him. “Three scarfs around his neck, two hanging in each elbow, and one in each hand.” Konoha laughs, looking into Sarukui’s vacant changing room to see how the scarf looks on him. “It’s bound to be summer, who even buys a scarf now?”

Washio grins. “They’re 50% off. We should go back and decide for one to give Shirofuku-chan, too.” 

Haruki was about to inspect which scarf was for him and which one for Bokuto, he hears a strange noise. It’s not Sarukui, who also looks around wondering. 

“That… sounded like one of my sisters when they find a cute dress in their favourite colours in a sale, and it has pockets.” Konoha comments, head tilting to the side to hear it better. The sound is continuous, closing in, and then calling out their names. Sarukui blinks, walking away from the mirror and towards the escalator. The rest of them follow, and find him pointing to a section below. 

“There’s Bokuto.” Sarukui waves, and seconds later, Bokuto sees them too, gasps, and runs around to get back to them. 

“What the hell is Bokuto doing in the women’s section… and is he bringing stuff back from there?” Konoha wonders, him and Washio waiting for Bokuto to find them, while Haruki and Sarukui go back to make sure their stuff won’t be taken away. Sarukui still wears the put together outfit, but waits until Bokuto and his findings come into their space. 

What he brought back were six identical shirts in several sizes. He holds one up for all of them to see. 

“Look! Our colours, and an owl! Everyone, pick yours and put it on!” Bokuto laughs, about to go into a cabin with his own size. Haruki takes one of the smaller ones, holding it up for further inspection; the owl is on a white shirt, drawn in watercolour lines, fading into each other, and specs of brushes turning to weathers all around it. Every piece is unique, although the ones Bokuto brought back are in the Fukuroudani colours; white shirt, black and yellow colours, golden specs. 

Sarukui has his own one in hand when he goes back into his cabin, and Bokuto runs out of his, displaying the awesome shirt. Konoha, meanwhile, gets super red. 

“Dude, are you- what the hell man, these are girl shirts.”

“So? I took them two sizes bigger after figuring out they had them and making sure they’re all the same colour. We can cut off the sleeves and it will look manly. C’mon, this is so cool!” 

Konoha is about to make a comment when Washio takes the largest shirt and goes into a cabin, applauded by Bokuto. “See, _Washio_ and Sarukui don’t fear for their masculinity.”

“Yeah well, Saru is totally undermined by Komi and wants to fit into the fashionable crowd.” Konoha argues, not touching the last remaining larger shirt. Haruki holds his own shirt down, ready to blow a fuse about that sentence, when Sarukui and Washio emerge with the shirts on, fitting well, and the sleeves turned up and open, displaying their biceps.

“So afraid Konoha? Sheesh.” Haruki grins and changes in Sarukui’s cabin (feeling a lot safer now). He hears Konoha buckling under the peer pressure. Once they’re all done changing, they head to the big mirror, everyone except Konoha with the sleeves pulled up. Konoha admits it kinda looks cool, and is patted heavily on the back by Bokuto who says ‘super cool!’

“We should find extras for future team members, too. We can totally represent Fukuroudani in our down time, then! It’s going to be so awesome.” Bokuto rambles, telling Sarukui to finish his business with being Haruki’s ‘dress up doll’ (again, Haruki almost blows his fuse), and takes Konoha and Washio, all three still in the owl shirts, to find others. Upon returning, Haruki is informed that they all should buy cool sunglasses to go with the look. 

Washio helps Sarukui take the things he likes (including the blasted shirt and jeans), while Konoha hides his face around three shawls they give back to him for later, and they go to find shades. 

 

Equipping themselves with aviator sunglasses, Washio, Bokuto and Haruki let Sarukui take a picture. Konoha chooses a large, white rimmed pair for himself. Bokuto’s hair is full with three more like a display, and he wants to try all of them on, each one more outrageous than the last. 

Shades stuck in his own hair, Haruki helps Sarukui find glasses that will fit his face, hoping he’d also go with the aviator ones because they’re really cool, and because they would match. The other three are off at the mirrors, and the boys have all the room for themselves to play around. Behind his back, he hears an argument starting between Konoha and Bokuto, but thinks nothing of it until he hears it’s about the owl shirt. He frowns to Sarukui, and both of them walk over to their friends. 

Konoha repeats what he just said, cupping his mouth to whisper, an unsure look on his face.

“Huh, looks like what?” Bokuto says, not one for whispering. 

“You know! Doesn’t it look, uhm, a little gay?” Konoha says the word even more quietly , but the hiss and the closeness enables Haruki to hear it just fine. He has no time to feel anything, while his heart sinks. Bokuto pulls himself up, his eyebrows intimidating, and the eyes below unhappy and challenging. He puts his fists on his hips, and a court-only intensity wafts off of him.

“Don't say it like that. What are you, a stupid asshole?” None of them heard a swear word as harsh as that from Bokuto before. Konoha cringes, makes himself smaller, knowing when he stepped on a landmine. In fact, Haruki always thought he’d be that landmine. “Nothing is ‘gay’ unless it’s two cute guys kissing or fooling around, and it's not _weird_ , Konoha. Stop looking like that.” 

“But you said cute guys-”

Bokuto snorts, one eyebrow perked.

“And? I’m not threatened if other people do whatever they want. Two guys, two ladies; it doesn't concern me. Stop worrying about how it makes you look.” Bokuto finishes, stomping away. Washio opens his mouth, then closes it. None of them knew Bokuto would take a stand like this. He was passionate about volleyball, they knew that, and have gotten used to it. Haruki feels his skin crawling, and relaxes when Bokuto comes back with a pink feather boa around his neck. “Seriously, you’d think I’d be afraid of what people think of me? As if! Sarukui, take another picture.”

Konoha blushes and looks to the ground, saying sorry in a quiet voice. Bokuto poses for the camera, peace sign, puckered lips, and rocking a total of four shades. Pulling the sunglasses on his nose low, Bokuto checks Sarukui’s phone and satisfies himself seeing the images. Konoha directs another question to Bokuto.

“Are you, uhm, into guys then?” 

Bokuto shakes his head, his horned owl hair keeping the three shades in place. “I don't really care about anything except volleyball right now. I mean, girls are cute, and the boys on our team are all tough and cool. If someone would ask me, I might give them a chance, regardless of their sex or gender. I do have to say, I favour cute girls.” 

Deep in thought, Bokuto has his fingers on his chin, as if he should re-think it more often. Washio snaps a picture of that pose, pink feather boa and all, saying that a thinking Bokuto is a rare treat. The tension is relieved when Bokuto explodes. Konoha laughs, while Bokuto tries to fight Washio. The latter swears to send the picture to Shirofuku. 

Haruki also feels better. Next to him, Sarukui releases a sight; a true sign of a pacifist. After all, Sarukui dislikes conflicts a lot, and wouldn’t want to see his friends fight. Haruki knows that this is the perfect moment to out himself to his friends. They’re on topic, neither of them seems disgusted, and they’ve become friends over the past few weeks. Nonetheless, Sarukui standing next to him makes Haruki burn on the inside, and unable to open his mouth. He never thought he’d be a coward like this. On mornings where he isn’t overcome with pubescent horniness, he plays out scenarios about how to tell Sarukui about his feelings, either the specific Sarukui ones or the general ‘I am gay’ type. It made him realize that he wants to share his secret with Sarukui the most.

The moment passes by without further incident. 

They move to the shoe department. Trying not to get too distracted finding stuff for himself, Haruki keeps close to Sarukui, helping him find his size and a nice colour to replaces his old converse sneakers. It takes time, as the clerk cannot find Sarukui’s size right away. A couple of moments later, Sarukui sits surrounded by several boxes and 12 pairs of different coloured footwear. 

“Black and white ones go with everything…” Sarukui says, sounding more as if he needs reassurance in his knowledge of fashion than an actual statement. Haruki links his arms behind his head, stretching his elbows to the ceiling and cracking his spine.

“That’s true but, you like colours. And the jeans are all darker too, it will fit.”

Sarukui nods, more to himself than in answer. Tying his shoelaces, Sarukui blinks up to Haruki, then glances away again. His voice a whisper, Haruki has to tiptoe over shoeboxes to be able to hear him. The question, as it turns out to be, makes Haruki’s heart skip. He has to be careful not to trip here; Sarukui would catch him-

“Say, Komi-yan… You don’t- have any issues if someone is, ehm, gay, right?” Although the person asking the question isn’t looking up, the person being asked cannot look away. The moment of before, to out himself and be truthful with his friends arises like before. And as before, Haruki doesn’t feel this to be the right time and place to share this part of himself. He has never experienced what a proper moment and mood would be for the other company. If there ever was a right time. Replying, Haruki sticks to the simple stuff.

“Course not. I’m cool with it, same as Bokuto.” Haruki says, tone flat. Sarukui nods again, slower this time. Keeping silent in case the motion would be followed by words, Haruki stares at the fingers finishing tying up the laces. The bubble pops when Sarukui looks at him for reassurance, asking if the new shoeware on his feet look alright. Needing to back off, Haruki stumbles back over the boxes, less graceful than before.

“Hmm, perfectly fine to me.” Haruki says, not meaning the shoes. 

Needing to cool off, he turns his head looking for the others. Washio and Bokuto stand bored to the side, talking team tactics of the other three schools in the Fukuroudani group alliance. Konoha isn’t seen anywhere, until he is, and then Haruki wished he hadn’t seen him.

“Konoha, you can’t be for real wanting to wear those.”

“Shut up, they’re pretty cool!” Konoha snaps back, unpacking the second boot that is coloured red with yellow trim. Haruki steps over the barricade of converse boxes without kicking them everywhere this time, to get to Konoha. Looking down on him (literally and figuratively) when he puts on both cowboy boots. “And they fit perfect! I always wanted a pair like these.”

This one is lost. Haruki can only handle one fashion charity case at a time. He goes back to Sarukui who has changed into another pair, if you could use the word ‘pair’ at all. Two different, bright, unmatching shoes tap the floor before Sarukui stands up. Haruki’s eyes are still on the impossibility depicted in a deep pink converse on the left foot, and bright blue on the right. He must intervene.

“Saru, you’re not 13 anymore.” Haruki laughs, and Sarukui ducks his head in laughter too. Konoha has the gall to admire himself in the mirror, the ridiculous cowboy boots covering the better part of his light blue jeans. Haruki wonders if, sisterless, he’s the only one here with style. In the end, Sarukui gladly chooses a deep blue pair. They’re a nice colour and they will fit with a lot of outfits, Haruki assures him. 

“Where are Bokuto and Washio?” Konoha asks, his cowboy boots back in the large box that he cradles like a child. Neither of them know, and they investigate, ending in the most expected place; the sport’s section. Washio holds a volleyball shoe in his hand for inspection, while Bokuto bounces a volleyball on his underarms. Once he sees Konoha and the rest, he bounces it towards them.

“Catch!” Bokuto laughs as Konoha panics. Tossing the box to Haruki, Konoha bends his knees to receive the ball, bringing it to Washio. Nothing is allowed to become a hazard to Washio’s hair, who deflects the ball with the shoe he’s holding. Giving Konoha’s box back to him, Haruki grins as he dives forward, saving the ball and bringing it back to Bokuto. Their airhead catches it in both hands, laughing and cheering their reflexes. In the end they gather every shirt, shawl, and shoebox, and go to pay, a rowdy group of high schoolers who got lucky enough not to be caught by security, or knock anything over.

“My brother just called.” Washio says after he’s done waiting for them to pay their things. “He’s waiting outside. Bokuto, your brother is there too.”

 

They have to go underground to get to the parking lot, where they meet the two big brothers; Akira is Bokuto’s larger copy, black hair down, nearly a twin if Bokuto wouldn’t style his hair all the time. He has the same eyes and eyebrows, as well as the same cheery attitude, but with a deeper voice. Tomio, Washio’s older brother, looks a lot friendlier on first sight than his younger sibling. His hair lacks any product as well, and he’s the closest anyone has ever been to touching Washio’s hair. Washio, no stranger to these attacks to his appearance, ducks out of the way. He busies himself, his brother and his friends with loading their shopping into the trunk.

The ride to the arcades is an unspectacular, short one, but the visit there is even shorter. Although this should have been the highlight of the day, problems are created as soon as Washio and Sarukui’s faces are misinterpreted by some misfits inside. While Washio’s unfriendly looking face invites yankees to think he’s out to get them, and aggressive ‘wanna fight!?’ challenges are thrown at their general direction, a large part of the other visitors think that Sarukui is laughing about all of them, winners and losers alike. 

It doesn’t help that Haruki feels protective, and stands right in front of him, actually provoking fights with his face. After only 20 minutes and barely two games played, the two older brothers call the mission a failure, and usher their two younger brothers and their friends outside again.

“Man, what a bummer! I didn’t think there’d be this many stupid people.” Bokuto pouts as he walks towards the entrance. He had been raving about this for so long, wanting to hold whole tournaments of games with his friends. The older Bokuto brother clasps his shoulder, and tells him they will come another time. Washio’s older brother grins, and offers an alternative that they all would enjoy.

“There’s a beach volleyball match being held, at the place where me and my friends go for soccer, usually. Entrance fees are low, and I think you guys might be interested in it.” The alternative helps to pick up the mood, and the younger Washio brother says they could get ice cream on the way, which appeases the lot of them.

 

The place is not far away. The older brothers, needing to find a space to park the cars in the underground garage, send their younger brothers up to the roof terrace on the top floor. 

“There’s an shaved ice cream stand available. Koutarou, I’ll take my usual flavour. Here’s some money.” Bokuto’s older brother treats everyone to buy their favourite sort, earning the respect and gratitude first year high schoolers bring up for this generosity. 

Once they arrived upstairs , everyone’s moods change for the better. Bokuto races Konoha to get shaved ice for all of them, and Washio finds them a good spot to watch the matches. The lack of room in Tokyo made people think more about using the platforms they had. As such, finding football, tennis, and basketball courts on top of buildings and side buildings wasn’t a strange sight. As the beach wasn’t super close by either, today’s organizers had taken it upon themselves to create a beach tournament in the middle of the city. 

Everyone settles down to watch the plays, which they remember fondly having done themselves after training camp. Washio, Konoha and Bokuto sit in front, placing their bags on the next row for the two latecomers. Haruki and Sarukui sit down behind them. It gives them a prime view of Bokuto and Konoha being young, immature children, sticking their different coloured tongues out at each other and making noises. Haruki catches Washio checking the colour on his tongue by himself. 

Haruki, past mistakes prominent in his mind, doesn’t watch Sarukui or his tongue, and lets him eat at peace. While their friends become engrossed in the matches, Haruki finds himself sitting closer to Sarukui than usual. He hadn’t sat particularly intimate before, he thinks, but as long as Sarukui doesn’t mind it, it should be fine. Friendly. 

“Mhnnn,” Sarukui hums Haruki’s attention towards his direction, who stills the spoonful of ice cream in front of his waiting mouth, gapes, then asks Sarukui what’s on his mind. “Aah, I wonder what the mix of these tastes would be like, is all.” 

_I could kiss you and we could find out,_ Haruki thinks, but when he speaks he holds his untouched spoonful in front of Sarukui’s face, offering it to him. They share ice creams for a while, mixing and matching the two tastes. It’s not like the Magnum Accident, but Haruki finds himself in danger. Sarukui’s good-looking features have been forming constant issues for the inside of his pants. It worsens when Sarukui leans in close as his lips surround Haruki’s spoon, his long lashes fluttering at every lick. Back in the cabin Haruki couldn’t have noticed, but Sarukui smells especially nice today. It’s an enticing scent, like the way he smells in the mornings or after a bath, on the beach, or during practice. 

“Uhhh.” Haruki groans, then eating his own ice cream again, hoping the ice will cool his head. 

“Tastes good!” Sarukui laughs once he’s satisfied, and Haruki couldn’t agree more. Even without anything on the spoon, he keeps rolling his tongue around it, shame boiling down his guts at the indirect kissing.

He has to tell Sarukui, and soon.

First, he levels the playing field. Once the two older brothers up front get them snacks, Haruki glances at his knees. He had never told his friends in middle school, except his good friend he knew since kindergarten, Hotaru. This shouldn't be hard, and when he calms his nerves, it isn’t. The same feeling Bokuto had about them as individuals and as a team is the same Haruki is overcome with, when he opens his mouth.

“I guess I should’ve said this earlier. I don’t think it should matter much but-”

“You’re gay.” Washio notes, sipping his coke. Whatever silence Haruki had expected to happen -an awkward silence- is smashed to pieces and rebuilt by Washio’s intervention. Konoha’s reaction is the most anticipated; first looks at his friend to the left, then to Bokuto on the right (whose face is empty of emotion, a rare treat), and only then to Haruki. He blinks, mouth gaping, and then back to Washio, who reaffirms while his eyes gaze ahead. “I figured.” 

Haruki doesn’t know what else to say. The thing he wanted to proclaim was taken right out of his mouth. Bokuto flashes him a smile, a thumbs up, and agrees that it doesn’t matter one bit. Konoha still glances from one person to another, even looks at Sarukui, who shrugs his shoulder. Before he can add his own two cents, Washio gazes at him.

“Don’t say anything stupid, Konoha.” 

“What!? I wasn’t- how the hell would you even know what I would-?” 

“You’d be the type to say ‘it’s cool if you’re like that, but don’t find me attractive’.” Washio grins the smallest of smiles as Konoha sputters, then winks at Haruki, who still has to ease his nerves. Konoha retaliates that he has no issues with it, wouldn’t think like that, and that he gets enough attention from the ladies. Bokuto, not into teasing anyone, directs his attention back to the matches. Haruki would like to know how Washio found out, or if he’d known all this time since their first meeting outside the gym on their first club day. 

At last he glances at Sarukui, met by a kind, inclined smile. They’re starting to reach a stage in friendship where words are unneeded and simple looks suffice. Haruki doesn’t blow off steam or sighs, and leans back to look blindly over the field. The two older brothers return, and it feels like nothing big has happened. Haruki, glad for it, eases his shoulders.

If it was Washio’s way to relieve any leftover tension or if he just couldn’t keep his dry sarcasm on a chain, Haruki might never know. In the end, it’s his commentary which gets them kicked out from the beach volleyball tournament during the final match. The team leading in points and about to win weren’t in favour with the boys, and so Washio’s commentary has turned to a sour, sarcastic piece of work. The ruckus they caused, and Konoha’s inability to stay silent enough for only them to hear, had made the organization's lead them to the exit.

Sarukui hid his laughter behind his mouth, while Konoha hid behind Washio and Bokuto. Behind all of them were the two older brothers, apologizing all the way. As soon as the door closed, the Washio siblings high fived, low fives, and fist bumped each other.

“Haaah, all that laughing made me hungry. Okay boys, where to next? Agree on a food place and us good brothers will treat you.” Bokuto’s older brother says, and they divide themselves over the two cars once again one they reach the most decision; ramen. Washio and Bokuto keep claiming the front seats of their brothers cars. Haruki decides to follow Bokuto without waiting for Sarukui’s or Konoha’s choices, who go to Washio’s car together. The drivers decide on the route to take.

Haruki feels weird being apart from Sarukui, but decides it doesn’t matter after having spend the day the way they did, plus his semi-coming out. He’s distracted when the Bokuto brothers play their favourite pop songs at a loud volume, and joins in singing the parts he knows. Feeling elated, they stop at the destination, then have to hold Bokuto back from running inside before everyone is here. 

*~*~* 

They’re changing in Bokuto’s classroom, ready to go to practice once their friend is done with his duties for cleaning up the classroom. Even with a head start, Sarukui is unable to change faster than Bokuto. A combination of eagerness to say goodbye to his classroom and hello to spike volleyballs give Bokuto inhuman speed. He pushes a whining Konoha out, and Washio follows to make sure no one gets hurt. 

Haruki has gotten so used to being alone and in close proximity to Sarukui, that this is fine. He’s not on fire, his heart doesn’t skip every so often Sarukui smiles at him, and he can look at Sarukui without his lust showing. Coming out hasn’t changed anything between them, both a good thing, and to Haruki’s heartache, a bad thing. Ready to go whenever Sarukui is ready, Haruki sat himself down on a desk closest to him, dangling his feet, a Sarukui-special patience in him. 

They’re in the middle of discussing a comedy show they both watched yesterday, when Haruki’s right eye starts to twitch. First he blinks, but when his eye starts to irritate, the blinking becomes noticeable. 

“Shit, I think I have something in my eye… Fuck.”

Sarukui, impossible in his open uniform shirt, comes to his rescue. Or furthering Haruki’s demise, his inner judge isn’t sure on the verdict. No one should be allowed to take this long for changing. How Sarukui manages to be so punctual is another mystery to Haruki’s endless ‘Why do I like this boy’ list, but currently he’s cursing the ever-living hell out of his right side of his face, for more reasons than a stupid eyelash in his eye.

The fire is burning all over Haruki, whose chin is touched to make him look up, whose knees brush Sarukui’s thigh. Sarukui leans over him, holding the side of his face, telling him to relax. “Sshhh, I got you. Let me see…” Sarukui licks his bottom lip before he bites it, a sign of concentration. He holds Haruki’s eye open, who starts to tear up. “Yeah it’s a lash. Relax, I’m good at this. I’ll be careful”

“Mhnn, I noticed this last weekend- Do you get freckles on your nose in the warmer seasons, Komi-yan?” 

The distraction is welcome. Haruki can’t nod though, needing to keep still. 

“I have them all the time, on my nose, cheeks, shoulders, back… They become darker during late spring and high summer. I get brown patches, too. My mom hits me with bottles of sun protection 50+ if I go outside without it on my skin.”

“Mhnn~” Sarukui hums in interest, or what Haruki hopes to be interest, at least. Haruki never cared for them; he was teased for having freckles in elementary school, and before he became one of the shortest people in his classes, it was the main thing people picked on him when picking a fight. His freckles being noticed and mentioned by Sarukui held a whole different load, another kind of menace looming. This close, Haruki allowed himself to think of Sarukui kissing his freckles, saying he likes them…

Wishful thinking, just like the whole first part of his school year here turns out to be.

Breathing through his nose, Haruki holds still; he lets Sarukui poke his eyeball gently, trying to pick the irritable eyelash off him. Once it’s done, seen by Sarukui’s smile, Haruki blinks up a storm with his right eye, hating how tears fall from his lower lash without him wanting to. Sarukui doesn’t brush them away, either. Bummer.

“Here, make a wish.”

“Wh-what?” Haruki laughs, nervous as Sarukui hasn’t stepped away from him yet. It was a testament to how good, and trustful friend Sarukui was. He knew Haruki was gay, but wasn’t afraid of being in a position like this. 

“My grandmother always told me to blow your eyelash away and make a wish-”

“It comes true? Yeah just like wishing on a falling star, a dead falling star that doesn’t exist by the time we see it, has magical wish-granting powers.” Haruki laughs, _wishing_ life would be so easy. Sarukui laughs too, the head-tilt, eye closed one Haruki likes so much. He really wants to kiss him. Pull Sarukui in by the shirt, have him bounce forward and needing to press his hands on either side of Haruki’s sitting body. Make out for 10 minutes. 5. Even if it only were seconds. 

“C’mon Komi-yan~ it works for me.”

“Keh, if you say so…” Haruki isn’t superstitious, but can’t deny Sarukui a thing. He blows over the hold out finger with his terrible betrayer of an eyelash, and of course starts a chain reaction of Sarukui being ticklish everywhere and having to snort. Haruki doesn’t trust eyelashes who tried to irritate him. He wishes on Sarukui’s light, sweet laughter, a sound purer and more magical non-existent in this universe.

_I want to kiss you and have you not hate me for it._

“Done? We should go.” Sarukui turns around quickly, pushing his uniform shirt over his shoulder. Haruki forgets to speak, watching the wider back, the dips above the shorts. His throat is dry and his skin feels scorched from being too close to a living sun. Self-preservation kicks in just in time to make him close his mouth and form proper sentences like a human being not in heat.

“Says the person who barely managed to get into his training shorts.” Haruki chirps, withstanding giving Sarukui a kick under his ass when he’s not looking. He waits, patiently, for Sarukui to finish changing. And then, patiently, for his knees to be steady enough and get off this table. 

 

The easy days like these where he can hang out in ease and not worry too much, end the closer they get to the InterHigh preliminaries. Fukuroudani’s current team is expected to make it to the top 4 of the Tokyo prefecture, and from the regulars to the second string, everyone works hard to reach for that goal, and beyond. Bokuto shows more seriousness in the plays, more frustration when his techniques don’t connect or score. It ripples through the team who will stand on the court, as well as to the fellow first years. 

Haruki hates not being on the team. He wants to fight with Bokuto and make it to nationals. For now, he has to do 13 more minutes, no, 20 more minutes of follow up drills. Shirofuku stands on a chair, holding the folded version high above her head. Sakamoto slams the ball against the chair, and Haruki has to receive it. He dives, falls flat, slides on his kneepads, hurts his elbow and needs a band aid. He makes a mental note to finally buy himself an elbow-pad to prevent those precious minutes being wasted on having small wounds tended to.

On another court, the first and second years attempt to raise their serve skills. Most of them do it standing on the ground, and a few second years jump for it. Haruki wouldn’t heed them any mind, not able to serve himself, if it wasn’t for Sarukui attempting the powerful jump serves. They do not travel as far as Washio’s, who stands on one spot and corrects his aim. 

“You can do it, Saru.” Haruki mumbles, not noticing anything else, until Sakamoto calls him back. Shirofuku pushes him, too, and Haruki tears his eyes away from Sarukui, who needs to be cheered up. But first-

“Stand on your toes, Komi! On the backline you’re always on tip toes, heels off the floor. Widen those lower arms more!” Sakamoto instructs, waiting for Shirofuku to return to her position. Then he tosses the ball up for himself before slamming it into the folded chair. 

Feeling as light as a feather, the feeling of invincibility rushing through his veins, Haruki reacts before he knows what he’s doing. He dives, arm-length across the floor, his hand as flat as humanly possible. The ball connects on the back of his hand, and the force of his dive propels his lower body over his upper side, and rolls forward, like a shrimp. Landing on his feet and crouching, he watches the ball up in the air, watching it fall a little off the net where a setter could have been standing. Perfect.

He can’t rest on any laurels, yuet feels a rush of happiness run over his spine when he sees Sarukui’s thumbs up. 

 

The end of the practice is a final end for tonight. Bokuto is told how important resting his muscles is, and the other first years are not allowed to stay behind anymore this close to the prelims. Haruki doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the order, or pissed because there’s so much more he needs his body to do on automatic. 

They’re all beat, though. Washio clasps his hand on the middle of Haruki’s back, giving him a smile on the way out. Whatever happens between practice end and the good byes said at the front gate go by in a haze. Haruki is barely present for anything, and even Konoha doesn’t talk a lot. He wonders if he made things weird after all, but none of them act like it. Their arcade outing which turned into a shopping and food outing is half a week ago. Then again, they have other things to concentrate on.

Konoha waits until Sarukui, whose grandparents finally let him drive his bike without a lock, comes around the corner with it.

“Alright so,” Konoha holds up a piece of paper Shirofuku had given him before the managers left together. There was a bunch of shopping to do, too much for the three managers, each of every year, to do on their own. “The first match is on Sunday, so we could go out on Saturday- Yes Bokuto, _after practice_ , let me finish!” 

Konoha hisses towards Bokuto. Saturday afternoons were now meant for the prelims, and although they would only have a short meeting on Saturday, Bokuto would want to perfect his cross court spikes before his first official match. 

They were just as nervous for him as he acted he wasn’t. 

“Sarukui, Komi and I will be in the stands then, cheering and all that nonsense. You guys have those shirts they handed out at first practice, right? We all need to wear those and our white track pants. Man, Shirofuku gave us a _ton_ to carry.” Konoha sighs, eyes on the piece of paper as he went through everything they had to bring on Sunday. 

“It will be fine, there’s four of us-”

Washio wasn’t often interrupted by any of them, but Bokuto was a special case this week. He hits Washio’s chest with the back of his hand, saying he’d help too. For the trouble, Bokuto’s horned owl hairstyle gets smushed under Washio’s large hand. Haruki cringes, imagining by the yelps Bokuto releases how the back of his head is punctuated by blunt nails. Saying ‘ouch!’ won’t release the iron grip. 

“You, of all people, have to rest. Concentrate on your match.” Washio ruffles the hair below his palm, an action he’d usually see as unholy. Bokuto’s shocked expression widened, his jaw lowering and lowering and the sounds coming out of him unfit for a human. Nodding his good bye and raising his other, free hand, Washio says good bye to them, then leads Bokuto away, not letting go.

Konoha sighs, watching them until Washio makes Bokuto round a corner.

“He’s an idiot, but I want him to do well, somehow.” Konoha says, hands in his pockets. Whatever he’s looking at in the distance, it’s not a place Haruki can envision. Away for a few seconds, Konoha turns on them when he has his mind in order. “I say you guys come to my area. I have a sports-related shop nearby, and the granny there gives me sweets all the time. We can hang out for like, half an hour before the shop closes, too.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sarukui agrees, phone in hand to memorize which lines goes to Konoha’s station. 

“Do we divide in stuff in three to bring seperately?” Komi asks, and Konoha contemplates before shaking his head.

“My station is also closest to school. We drop the stuff at my place on Saturday. You guys head my on Sunday, we pick it up, then bring it there for our hardworking managers. Washio’ll come too, and I’ll tell him to keep an eye on Bokuto.”

Haruki laughs. “Bokuto is the type to be unable to sleep and then wake up with the sun. Probably.” 

“Most freaking likely.” Konoha says, as if suffering under the same roof as their friend. Their plans finalized and Konoha saying he’ll lett Washio know the details later, they part as well. 

It has become a welcome customary for Haruki to walk out of his way and with Sarukui for as long as he’s allowed to. If Haruki thought things would be more serious and silent, he’s proven wrong. For as much as 15 minutes they talk about a manga Haruki had lent to Sarukui, who is one of the slowest readers on the planet, probably.

“You’re at- where? But that’s like- merely the beginning!”

“I take my time between scenes.” Sarukui explains. Haruki had seen Sarukui reading manga once. He’d read a page, set the book in his lap and stare at the sky, contemplating the happenings. This would occur every odd page or so. Haruki had given his favourite manga to him once during recess, only to watch Sarukui being nowhere close to finish reading. Haruki had pushed the manga into his bag once they went back to class, saying Sarukui could borrow it.

“How do you friends even keep up with you?” Haruki laughs, and Sarukui inclines his head, not knowing it either. 

“I keep telling them not to spoil things but… it’s hard when they’re always five volumes ahead…” 

“Yeah, no shit man. And only five? Tomocchi reads One Piece right. Surely you’re behind 99% of the time.” Haruki likes to tease Sarukui, mostly when they’re alone. Sarukui would have a limit to what he can handle, and then start pushing Haruki at the shoulders, telling him to stop. Of course Haruki wouldn’t stop. 1) Teasing Sarukui was easy, 1,5) it was super fun. 2) Being touched by Sarukui on a regular, friendly basis was in no way something Haruki needed to be stop. And 3) he’s still in love with the guy.

“Komi-yan, stop. I got to Arlong-”

“Saru, please, stop.” Haruki had to stand still and reach out for a nearby wall, his stomach painful from laughter. From the other side, Sarukui pushes at his shoulder, which feels like tickling at this point and makes Haruki giggle even more. A boyish, lovelorn laugh he can’t keep from his cheeks. “You realize that was over a decade ago, right? Did you never watch it or follow it when you were younger?”

“I had to read what my parents bought for my older brother, and he only reads historical and sci-fi manga.... My parents didn’t feel like catering to all our needs, given they were to send us to good schools. Plus my dad thought One Piece is violent. I wasn’t allowed to watch it even when all my friends did.” Sarukui looks at him, and Haruki has to tell himself it’s not his nose, not his freckles. Surely not. Calming down and feeling sorry for his friend, he keeps him company until Sarukui cannot handle the how far out Haruki walks with him. Breaking points, so to speak. Same as Haruki’s head. 

They reach a point where Sarukui usually tells Haruki that it’s late and he should be on his way back anyway. Haruki uses the few seconds he has to intervene Sarukui from sending him off. “Tell you what, in the summer time you come to my place. I’m going to pull you through it, man. It’s One Piece. If feel so bad for you friends, poor suckers, stuck with the slowest consumer of Japanese pride.”

“ _Stooop_ ,” Sarukui’s arms and shoulders hand, a deep sigh from his nose and mouth enticing Haruki to step closer. Sarukui’s eyes are closed, the evening is a warm breeze of fortune on Haruki’s neck. He wants to kiss Sarukui, for what feels like the 111th time. Willing his feet to stop engaging forwards, the moth to the deadly flame, Haruki remains out of the danger-zone, already too close for anyone’s comfort. His head feels light, and he’s still waiting for Sarukui’s answer, dizzy. He cannot push too much, or seem to eager.

“About visiting… I’ll have to help my grandparents a lot. They help out in the neighbourhood and go to various fruit picking things. I guess I can make time but, you could also come to our place.”

“Sure! I can bring everything over, no problem.” Haruki grins, holding out his balled fist for Sarukui to pump it, on top and then below. “We’ll figure it out. Anyway, see ya tomorrow.”

The dark brown eyes cross to Haruki’s nose again, who wills his hands to stay cool, stay breezy, right at the side of his body, and not to cover his face in consciousness of having a body part of him being under scrutiny. “Yeah, see you, Komi-yan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put in the talk about the red string keeping kids together after Sakamoto-san dropped [this cute art](https://twitter.com/bkak450/status/728080313033752577/) on children's day in Japan.
> 
> The idea of Konoha's boots came from [this amazing art piece ](http://fish-wifey.tumblr.com/post/144102465585/mightier-buttersalt-retouched-ver-i-said/)(which can be bought as a print, I have it~~)   
> (also yes, that's my personal tumblr, feel free to say hi~)
> 
> Komi's lash problem was something that happened to me during the time of writing. I do my eye make up every day (cheeks mostly too, lips I try really hard to do daily xD), and on one particular morning, a lash meant to kill me and make me tear up badly.
> 
> Sooooo the next update will probably take a few months :''DD my friend is super busy with uni, and I'm not going to whine about beta-reading. I hope you all are patient :'''''DDDDDDDD thanks for reading anyway, and if you feel like it, please drop a comment uvu!! I love hearing about what people think of the fic, and it really makes me happy ;v;


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Bokuto became the confident, strong third year ace and captain, he was a first year with small amounts of performance anxiety before a big match. He calls in an emergency meeting (aka sleepover) of all his friends.
> 
> Komi and Sarukui have a minor row in between qualifier matches of their team.
> 
> Oh and someone is tired of waiting for love to happen, and chases it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After careful consideration, I've decided to upload the rest of the work, unbeta'd. Thing is, my dear friend doesn't have time and I'm anxious to upload the rest of this story without pressuring her into beta-ing it all. I've always been afraid to publish work unbeta'd because I've received negative comments about my English before, and I know I tend to be very vague. 
> 
> But hey, English is my third language (I speak like four), I wrote this in my free time not expecting anything in return, and sarukomi is like an über-rarepair xDDD I've waited so long to share this with everyone and I have grown past my anxiety and just want to publish it all.
> 
> Final chapter will be my Christmas present to all those who've read this story and like it .v. My apologies if you come across things that don't make sense or if you see any little mistakes. You can of course comment on them (and I shall change them asap), but for now: Enjoy~!!

Konoha has been thwarted by Bokuto often. His well-calculated plans for the weekend fall half in the water during executing his Saturday afternoon plan. Bokuto’s emergency call goes out 20 hours before match start. Haruki and Sarukui stand with boxes of tape, and other needful stuff outside the store when Konoha’s phone rings. Bokuto talks loud enough, and sounds stressed enough, for all of them to stop in their tracks.

“Hey, calm down. What- Bokuto. Bokuto, hold on- Bo- Hey!” Konoha looks at the phone, disconnected call, then to the two of them. He can’t even sigh anymore.

“Bokuto is scared he’s going to sleep through four alarms, and that even his own mother won’t wake him up in time. He just invited us all to his place. We’re supposed to do team-bonding and watch movies. I can’t-” Konoha is at the end of the line, replaying Bokuto’s hasty words in a calmer, neutral manner. Haruki knows he’s dead inside, done with the world, unable to question Bokuto’s wild ways. “His mother is calling our parents to fix it. We’ll sleep at his place and- god.” 

The plan is so last minute, so crazy, that they find themselves listening to it. Bokuto had always wanted to make friends, fast, and spend a lot of time with them. Not just playing volleyball. Bokuto made rounds to their classrooms all the time, for nothing at all. He wished to be around volleyball nerds who were even half as crazy as him about the sport. Around dinner time, they all arrive at the Bokuto household, and find out just how distressed Bokuto is for his first official match. Before Washio can stop him, Bokuto tears the box Haruki’s is holding out of his hand and talks them inside. They have to physically stop him from taking their overnight and match stuff, too. Washio, using both hands on Bokuto’s shoulders, makes his way through the house as if he has been here before. 

Bokuto’s mother ushers concerns for his son, who usually inhales his dinner. “He hasn’t eaten much. Says stupid things like not being able to jump as high as he can with too much food!” 

She made enough food for all of them after her son’s impossible request, and they help bring the plates and hot dishes to the living room, where Bokuto has set up his emergency camp. Konoha and Sarukui promise her to make him eat his share. Meanwhile, Washio has found other concerns. Once he settled Bokuto down near the table, he lets his hand slide over the table’s other contents. There’s Shirofuku’s notebooks, a bunch of cd’s. Not dvd’s, Haruki sees. Washio flips one of them, then comments the inevitable cherry on this cake’s madness. 

“Bokuto, these aren't movies.” Washio says, holding up various cd’s labeled all the same ‘extra practice’, numbered for as often as Shirofuku had the time to be there. They knew what these tapes were. The first years had asked Shirofuku countless times to tape their extra volleyball sessions, to locate and analyze mistakes as quick as possible and perfect their plays, from clumsy to noteworthy. 

“They are, Washio. Horror movies.” Bokuto turns on him, taking the cd out of Washio’s hand. He swags it in front of their faces, lips pressed together. “You know how many times I spiked the cross outside the court? Fifteen times! On this cd alone! Horrendous. How can I wear the Fukuroudani uniform tomorrow with bad plays like that.”

“You’re not going to magically be better overnight watching this, Bokuto.” Konoha says, shocked at Bokuto’s state. Bokuto informs him he’s been watching these for as long as eight nights now, and implementing his mistakes as much as possible in practice. Haruki thought they had a good grasps on how nervous Bokuto would be, even when he said he wasn’t; this has gotten beyond the four first year’s expectations. Bokuto has come near hysteria, so frightened and frantic. 

Nonetheless, the living room area looked cozy. He had brought enough pillows and blankets, had healthy sports snacks, and two hot pots of green tea (Washio’s orders). 

He instructs them to pick a spot on thee floor or the couch. His mother still stands near, and Bokuto tells her not to worry, they’d get to bed in time. Sarukui and Konoha promise it, too, apologizing once again for the sudden intrusion. Bokuto talks half over their apologies: “Mom, it will be fine. This is important! My life is on the line here.” 

He switches on the tv, and Konoha and Washio decide to stay close to him, Washio in the middle, close to Bokuto, and Konoha on Washio’s right side, in case he has to make emergency runs or cut Bokuto’s flightways off. Sarukui, who together with Haruki has claimed the couch, asks what he’s been wondering about since the noon-time phonecall. 

“Uh, you’re afraid you won’t wake from four alarms-” 

“Five, Saru. I found another one, and set it even earlier.”

“And you don’t think that’s enough, but we are..?” Sarukui took a plate of fish from the table, then decides to pour tea for everyone, not allowing Bokuto to touch anything hot or do precision work like that. Bokuto looks at him as if he just stated they were all aliens. Haruki would have laughed or make a joke about Bokuto’s face, if the situation wasn’t as dire. Their bubbly, happy, energetic Bokuto, driven to an unreasonable fear of sudden incapability. 

“Of course, you guys- Saru, really. I trust you guys with my life, y’know!”

Yelling that time is of the essence and they need to get this started, it’s a good thing Bokuto jumps up and over Konoha’s legs to pop the first cd into the player. They all have to look elsewhere after his heartfelt, matter-of-fact said words. Konoha blinks a lot of times before he can focus on the tv. Bokuto’s mother sneaks in one more time, placing a ton of onigiri on the table and kisses her son’s forehead. Bokuto, unashamed of such affections, points at the scream. 

“See!? Blocked. Again! By Konoha of all people!”

Sarukui and Haruki look at each other, trying not to burst laughing. Konoha’s protest is evident, although not understandable.

“Whey-sh, Auh-m a gwoo-”

“Konoha, please eat your food before attempting to gatling-attack me with those wet rice pieces.” Washio says dryly, having Haruki and Sarukui in fits of laughter on the couch. Haruki knocks against Sarukui, not something he can control when he holds his stomach. While Konoha swallows his food, Washio wipes his face, and Bokuto replays the block, Haruki and Sarukui try to regain normal, non-chuckled breathing.

“I said, ‘why me, I am a good’, and this is what I wanted to say before I was most rudely interrupted,” Konoha gives Washio the angry-eye, a 98% less effectively than those coming from the inventor, Washio. Then he looks to Bokuto again, trying to gain his attention away from the screen. “‘A good enough player to block the likes of you, Bokuto!’”

Everyone is happy Washio made Konoha stop in time. No one would have wanted to hear that entire sentence through a mish-mash of food inside his mouth. Washio and Bokuto ignore this. Bokuto the host, makes sure all his friends are well-fed, and then has to except his own unfinished plate by Washio’s pushy methods. Eating, watching their clumsy plays becoming better, Konoha is able to point out how they sucked a lot in the beginning and became better week by week. One of the plays include a receive done by Haruki, which looks good at first; he slides over one kneepad, his lower leg off the court, and his legs forward to receive a ball Konoha spiked. The ball went out of bounds without his teammates at the time, Washio or Bokuto, to go after it. Haruki is able to agree that he worked hard for it, but scolds himself for not yet having it pat down for good. 

Happiness meter going down being reminded Bokuto is not the only one with plummeting self-confidence rewatching his plays, Haruki is on the verge to ask if Bokuto could replay that moment, when Sarukui pipes up. 

“Mhn, this week Komi-yan did an excellent block-follow. Even Sakamoto-senpai was impressed.”

“Wuh-ffhey, wha-?”

“Konoha, _eat first_.” Washio grunts through his teeth, watching out for soy sauce splatters heading towards his face and hair. Konoha, face composed through kept-in anger, breathes and eats, then looks to the two couch-sitters.

“ _Like I said,_ ”

“No one cares for the incomprehensible things you try to get through a mouthful of food. Just say it now.” Washio interrupts again, dangerously close to have an attempt made on his hair. None of them had bathed yet, keeping it for calmer times when Bokuto is finally at ease. Right now, the everyday back and forth between his friends makes Bokuto seem more at ease than when they first arrived. They finished off most of the dinner, the onigiri, and the tea by now. 

“Dude, that one where your whole body becomes a pancake,” Bokuto starts, also impressed. Haruki, making his blush not appear, tells him it's only the hand-part that becomes as flat as a pancake. “Yeah, that one. You struggled with those so much, didn’t you? That’s amazing!”

As much as Bokuto could and would blow his own horn, he had genuine pride in his voice come through when he clasps Haruki’s knee. Haruki still has to handle Sarukui even mentioning that. Of course it all goes to pieces when Sarukui continues, taking revenge of the endless teasing Haruki puts him through most of the times. 

“He looked like a shrimp, too- wait, let me visualize.” Before laughs could be heard or Haruki’s indignant sputtering, Sarukui launched himself off the couch, took a shrimp pieces Konoha tried to eat (and protest being taken off his chopsticks), and replayed the roll Haruki had made. Instead of teasing or laughter, Washio claps for the performance, both done by Sarukui and the unseen one of Haruki’s, and Konoha nods his head, sagely.

“That ain’t bad. Quick recovers from follow ups are as important as the connection.” 

Easier on his mind, they see through Bokuto eats, bathes, eases up, doesn’t drag them all outside to play, and ready Bokuto’s room into a giant sleeping fort of five futons. Once the lights go out, Haruki’s heart finally stops being an erratic asshole over Sarukui’s praise. Washio and Konoha wrestle Bokuto to his futon, telling him he really won’t improve anything by staying awake. 

Of course during the squabble, Haruki manages to end up in the futon next to Sarukui’s. Memories of the training camp haunt Haruki; tickle and pillow fights, naked, perfect skin, drops of water, sweat, hard work and teenage dreams. Sarukui smells amazing post-bath, and his skin seems so much softer without losing any of the manly charm Haruki likes so much. 

Once the lights are out, Washio and Konoha sure Bokuto is sleeping for real, and feeling like being the last one awake, Haruki nudges his body closer to where Sarukui lies. Half an hour later, most of them are asleep, except the boy with all the hormonal problems. Haruki keeps his seedier thoughts to biting his bottom lip, crossing his arms under the blanket in order not to touch himself. Between the wakened state and drifting into dreams and other nonsense, Haruki’s breathing slows. 

In this state, in which he can’t tell reality from something imagined, he feels a single finger on his nose. He can’t see Sarukui’s eyes in the dark, merely his vague dark shape in the backdrop of the shadowy night. Consciousness jumps into an alarm mode. Making himself listen to Bokuto and Konoha’s soft snores, and the lack of sound from Washio who is pure stone when asleep, Haruki wonders if he feels something on his nose or if he’s sleeping.

“You’ve freckles... on ‘r nose, don’tchu, Ko...mi.” The voice sounds sleepy, far-gone, as if they exist on another plain entirely. Haruki belives he’s imagining this. His body and wishful thinking taking a toll, turning his fantasies into a jape at him. Hurting his arms by crossing them harder, Haruki holds his breath. Not a single breath brushes over Sarukui’s finger, which drops to the top of his lip.

“Fr...e...ckles.”

*~*~*

After every match, Haruki’s throat is raw. Fukuroudani breezes through the better half of the prelims, about to face two more matches, if they win the first one. The goal, top four, is in their grasp. Now it’s up to the team to decide which place they take in. On the way to the bus, Sarukui gives him honey-sweets. Screaming and cheering were hard. 

Konoha is the first to clasps Washio on his back when they meet up outside at the busses. For the first time, Washio was changed in during a second set, which they won, too. Of course Bokuto did well. After the first hiccups in the first match, he picked himself up and showed months of hard training. 

Summer was on the verge of making them feel uncomfortable, and Haruki, although he knows the air-conditioning would ruin his throat more, wants to be engulfed in the electric breeze. He wants to sit down in the bus and pretend he’s sleeping, in general. During the cheers, he and Sarukui had been pressed up together a lot. Their elbows were constantly touching, and it was a testament to Haruki’s willpower that it didn’t affect him too much. What affected him, in the end, were Sarukui’s looks. 

Three weeks after what Haruki called the Freckles Incident, combined often with the Eyelash Incident, he’d noticed how often Sarukui looked at him. In the beginning, it didn’t matter. Then came the doubts; was Sarukui on the lookout for more freckles or the brown patches? Did Haruki look sick and made Sarukui worry? Were his own stolen glances being noticed, analyzed, and taken apart for what they were? After all, he hadn’t been able to even come close to a confession.

 

Haruki decided, one evening where he fantasized about telling Sarukui his feelings, that it wouldn’t be fair to impose his boy troubles on a friend whom he liked so much. His coming out had gone so freaking well that he should be pleased enough, satisfied enough. 

“Komi-yan, your bag.”

“...Huh?” Dazed, Haruki furrows his brows, then looks behind him. He’d walked after Sarukui, about to board the bus, leaving his bag behind on the street. Head a haze, he made quick turns and retrieved his stuff, then continued following Sarukui in to find a seat. Sarukui was too nice; he had a heart of gold. It wasn’t in Haruki to dent it, to try and melt it, to take even a piece of it for his own needs. 

“Hey,” Sarukui leans close when they’re sitting, shoulders not touching. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry so much.” The reply’s curt, more so than he likes, but Sarukui doesn’t recoil. Haruki had spikes, thorns, a short fuse and a sometimes explosive personality if his buttons were pushed. Sarukui took him for what he was, flaws and all. 

“Maybe you should sleep.”

“I was about to, thanks.” Haruki makes himself say it softer, make his lips curl in a smile which Sarukui mimicked. 

“The window is shit to sleep against.” Sarukui says, as the bus starts. Ahead of them, Bokuto gives a play-by-play of the first set, the difficulties which everyone had seen, but would let him talk about anyway. Haruki looks outside of the window, his own reflection including freckles showing, while a vague silhouette of Sarukui is close behind him. Sleeping with your forehead against the glass of a driving vehicle was the worst. Kicking his bag, Haruki wants to bow over and get his towel out, a makeshift pillow, when Sarukui continues talking.

“Y’know if you want- I don’t mind if... you want, you can- ah.” Sarukui stops when Haruki looks at him, hands towards his bag without touching it, frozen in time, frozen by the offer Sarukui tries to make. Sarukui whispers his stammering into a sentence which proposes Haruki could use his arm to rest on, instead of the window. “I don’t mind, ne? ‘M cool with it all, so. And people sometimes fall asleep on my shoulder anyway.” 

Sarukui isn’t looking at him, rubbing the back of his head and laughing off every day things that happen to people during train rides. Haruki wonders who let this perfect angel exit the heavens and grace the same patch of earth Haruki is polluting with his sinful needs and wants. As much as he wants to, as much as his body and heart needs him too, he cannot exploit his friend like that. Sarukui doesn’t know what’s in his head, what being close like that would mean to one of them. 

“You’re too freaking kind, Saru. I’m good!” He waves his towel at him, folding it into a usable piece of pillow-wannabe. Not letting himself pursue Sarukui meant not profiting off his kindness. Faking sleep isn’t easy, but Haruki does so anyway, all the way back to school. None part of Sarukui’s ever touches his, either.

*~*~* 

Whoever pissed Sarukui off, Haruki wished he knew. A week after, he notices visible changes, when their classmates don’t. Since the beginning, they think that Sarukui is always cheerful, always having a joke on the tip of the tongue. The way his mouth is formed covers for how he truly feels and expresses himself, which people are aren’t skilled in the art of reading and understanding him fall into the whole. 

They think he’s always smiling.

Haruki, who’s watched, deciphered, and tried to learn as much as possible about Sarukui, knows better. 

It starts from not meeting Sarukui at the shoe lockers first thing in the morning. Sarukui’s nerd trait number one is being punctual for everything, which also meant being five minutes early. He would wait for Haruki, and they’d go to class together. When Haruki arrives and doesn’t see him, clock ticking by, he goes to class. Sarukui isn’t there.

When he finally enters, it’s another sign something is way off; the way Sarukui enters the classroom, how he goes straight for his desk and doesn’t look at people. How’s he faster in his movements, when he moves at all. From Monday to Wednesday, Haruki tries to coax out of him if something happened. Sarukui drapes silence over him as if he’s learned it from Washio. It’s hard to get anything out of him, and information to what’s wrong is deflected by curt responses or changing subjects. 

Bokuto is obvlious, Konoha doesn’t mind as long as he thinks Sarukui isn’t hurting. Washio looks, stares, has his thoughts, but doesn’t share. 

In the latter half of the week, Haruki uses direct confrontation.

“Hey, you know you can tell, right? Did something happen? You seem off this week, man.” They’re on their way to the nearby supermarket, Konoha and Bokuto behind them. Washio has been surrounded by the basketball team, who try to win him over for their club for next year, ever after they found out his older brother plays basketball. It’s an event that happens every odd moon and becomes a hilarious spectacle, especially when Ito is involved, their angry second year senpai. Not needing to see it again, the four of them fled the schoolyard, 

Haruki keeps pace with Sarukui, whose steps are faster, even if it’s barely noticeable. Haruki notices. 

“No. Nothing.”

“That doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” Haruki deflects. Sarukui’s head tilts to him, his lids closer together; not a sleepy, or droopy cute face; actual slits of held-back anger Haruki recognizes himself in. He also doesn’t stop walking, a bad sign. 

“It sure as hell feels like ‘nothing’ to me, though.” On any other day, and for any other reason, Haruki would endorse Sarukui using swears. It doesn’t feel right this time, used against him. He doesn’t want to fight, especially not with Bokuto and Konoha on their heels. It’s then, close to the entrance gate, that he notices they’re not behind them. While Haruki stops and turns, walking backwards. He can’t see them anywhere, as if they just vanished. Sarukui walks ahead, steps 0,5 seconds faster than usual. 

Haruki knew that other people always had a feeling when to leave people alone. When to not push their buttons or drive them to the edge. Being a hothead mostly, he never had a sense for that. Turning back to keep up, half-running outside the school, Haruki has enough. As soon as they exit the schoolyard, he grabs Sarukui’s arm. The other stops, and they step aside, into the shadows of low tree branches from inside the school which go over the outside wall.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Haruki lacks the length, width, and general mass to corner anyone. He puts it all into his stance, his attitude, tries to keep his voice balanced between ‘soft, friendly, understanding’ and ‘let me know so I can punch someone for you’. “Come on dude, we’ve known each for- quite some time now. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“And if I don’t feel like talking, you just have to accept it, don’t you.” The words hit Haruki like a brick. Not the rosy-coloured one which released butterflies in his stomach, not the grey-ish which sunk his feelings to a low, not the yellow kind, which would thunder up and down his entire spine. It’s a brick, a normal brick, brick-brown coloured, meant to shatter him. 

He doesn’t understand where this is coming from. Doesn’t want to think his emotions were known.

Haruki laughs, plays it easy. He links his hands behind his head, leans forward. It takes Sarukui off-guard, a good thing. They’re not allowed to make this terrible, to have a cliff between them. Haruki smacks Sarukui on the arm, then puts his hand back behind his head, laughing wild and free and at is if his heart isn’t torn apart by doing so. 

“Of course I’d accept it if you don’t want to talk. But lighten up, mhn? If you’re angry at me, we can work it out. I know about irritation. But please don’t be too closed-off about it. It disturbs the others.” Wide-eyed, good-natured, Haruki teases Sarukui. It catches him off guard and releases the tension. Sarukui shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at the supermarket they were headed to like a sanctuary.

When they cross the street to the store, Haruki distracts him with his slow-reading, how he had never lent his One Piece manga out for such a long time, and wonders if Sarukui will ever finish reading all published volumes. The volcano appeased, he buys Sarukui a drink, makes sure that his annoyance at whatever dissipates before they return. 

They return at the school’s main building’s entrance, standing at their separate lockers to change into the indoor shoes. Haruki, faster as usual, makes his way over to his friend, who seems cooler than outside. Sarukui looks at the ground, his indoor shoes already on his feet. Although he knows he should keep his distance, Sarukui’s face keeps attracting him, making his feet move, his upper body bend, his eyes trying to catch his. Sarukui notices him, then glances away.

“Komi, if you were bothered by- something big, no matter how… bad you think it is. You’d still tell me, right?”

Haruki is not in love with Sarukui. He cannot let those seething feelings crushing his throat singe his outer appearance. His brows crook together, questioning, then his shoulder shrug as if he isn’t carrying the load of months upon months strong want for this boy on them. 

“Sure, Saru. Anything.” He hates liars, and he hates lying. He cannot despise himself however, in order to protect this.

“Really?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“Well then,” Sarukui laughs; the one that looks real, but isn’t. The one he pretends for. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes; a version of a smile Haruki hadn’t wanted to be directed at him, ever. “Then there’s nothing wrong, is there.”

Sarukui heads to the classroom, and it takes a few moments before Haruki composes himself enough to follow. Crisis averted. He thinks.

*~*~*

Haruki and Konoha believe they have practically shouted their friends on the court to the semi-finals. Fukuroudani wins, 3 sets to 2. Bokuto jumps Washio, who substituted for a hurt senpai. The last point scored came from a brilliant block Washio made, interrupting the other team’s flow, and enabled Bokuto for a direct hit. It’s Saturday night and the coaches and advisors are so psyched that they swing the buses yet again to a surprise location instead of straight home to the school.

They exit the bus and Haruki remembers this being the street where they’d gone to before, when Washio’s and Bokuto’s older brothers gave them a treat. 

The head coach Yamiji guides the regulars to the very same restaurant. They haul Bokuto in, allowing him to order whatever he wants. Grinning, the four of them follow, and even Washio is caught in a hard arm that pulls him apart from their group. When they’re trying to find seats, Shirofuku claims Konoha, as he had been helping here with the match’s data. He gives a one-handed apology to the Haruki and Sarukui, who end up sitting on their own with a few third year senpai already ordering and celebrating.

This week hasn’t been easy, but preliminaries and keeping Bokuto from burning out too soon kept the four of them busy, including Haruki and Sarukui. Whatever dark shadow had crossed Sarukui’s face and Haruki’s anything had flown past. 

Once everyone’s seated, they order. Haruki cannot hold back ordering shrimp, Sarukui goes special and wants daikon as his side dish. No one from the club is silent and they’re quite rowdy eating and running around. Haruki can’t wait to be part of the team, to enable this view in front of him, to make people proud. He wants to bother Konoha and Shirofuku about the stats regarding Sakamoto’s receives. Already planning what to do when they get back to the gym, Haruki sits back once he’s done eating. He wants to aim and make at least the bench for the Spring High.

It’s when he notices a new expression on Sarukui’s face. He decides to decode it before asking Sarukui what is on his mind this time. 

The brows look neutral, straight. There’s no angry quiver or a downward ridge to be seen. The mouth is at it is; having the contour of an unwavering smile which isn’t actually a constant meter of happiness or content. It’s the eyes that give Haruki’s spine a shiver top to bottom; they’re more intense than usual when they’re not on the court, and fully intent on staring down Haruki. He notices how no one around them watches them. How Konoha and Bokuto check out the fish in a huge tank on one side of the room. How Washio and other tall seniors help the old restaurant keeper with something behind the kitchen. 

Nothing of these things should be new, yet by the way Sarukui looks at him, right through him, it feels significant. Sarukui gets up, asking Haruki if he would mind going outside for some fresh air.

“Yeah, alright.” Haruki huffs a laugh, acting light. He forces himself to maintain being a normal person when he follows Sarukui’s back, until the fresh evening air greets them outside. While they were having dinner, the sun set, its shadows covering the side street they’re standing in hues of purples and dark blues. Around them are a few smokers, other restaurants trying to entice customers into visiting their stores. Sarukui walks until they’re out of earshot of any of those, finds a side entry behind the kitchen, a hiding spot behind a bunch of overgrown plants. 

Haruki enjoys the fresh air, and places himself right in front of Sarukui, eager to know what this is about.

“Do you ever plan on telling me your feelings, or will you just keep them to yourself forever?”

A lightning strike couldn’t have shocked Haruki more than the impatient hiss at the end of Sarukui’s words. Dogs bark behind him, people walk by deciding on what to eat, other shoppers and their bags rustle past even faster. Haruki blinks, once, twice, a third time before his mouth slowly closes. One of his brows lowers, and he feels unsteady on his feet. 

“Come again?” He asks, a hint of confused laughter in his tone. There’s no room for misunderstanding, but he must have misheard.

“You like me, right? I haven’t imagined it, Komi-yan. Don’t tell me I did.”

He doesn’t feel anything. Not the heavy satisfied feeling of food in his stomach, which made the usual swarm of butterflies flutter less rampant. His heartbeat goes on as normal, and even his fingers don’t feel clammy. There’s no heat in Haruki’s neck, his ears, and it’s vacant of his cheeks, too. There’s a frozen smile, mid-laugh on his face, while Sarukui looks perfectly angry and distraught at having to say the words Haruki hadn’t been ready for. All sorts of scenarios in his head, ways to confess in a cool way, what words to say, all vaporize, unneeded, too late.

A deep inhale makes him gather his thoughts, and when Haruki exhales, his cheeks are blown out, his eyes closed, and resolve perfect. Sarukui had been mad at him last time because he hadn’t been truthful. Squaring his shoulders as if he’s about to fight, he brings his hands to his pockets to hide the fists there, and tilts his head in a form of apology. 

“Yeah, I do. I really do like you, a lot.”

“And you didn’t tell me because-?”

“Because it’s not easy confessing to a guy, alright!?” Haruki’s annoyance isn’t meant to Sarukui; he hates that it’s not easy saying it, while it should be just as such. He rubs the back of his neck, fingers going over the undercut he needs to re-shave soon, as the regrowth curls on the bottom. It’s bullshit that he hadn’t done this earlier because he was afraid of all sorts of things, and Sarukui makes it seem like it should have been easy. “A lot of thought goes into confessing and I-”

“A few girls had no problems saying they liked me, and I kept turning everyone down for your sake, and I guess for my own, too.” Sarukui cuts him off, stepping into his personal space. 

Haruki doesn’t check the street, doesn’t care for other people or how this looks to them. He doesn’t back down, already feeling a large leave rustling at his shoulder. Sarukui doesn’t, either. It makes Haruki’s irritation flare up, although he does try to keep his voice low. “And since when did you even know, huh? What makes you think this would have been easy for me, whatever way you look at it?”

“I guessed as much. For the longest time, I didn’t know if I was right or wrong about it. I didn’t know if I should say anything at all, and chose to wait for you to make up your mind and tell me instead.” He whispers how it all went to shit because he couldn’t wait any longer. “I… tried showing you that I would be open for it. So many times. It’s hard for me too, you know!? The way you look at me and- I can see what you think when you do.” 

Now Haruki burns up on the outside. Now he becomes red. He can’t hide anymore, and if what Sarukui’s says is true, his hiding techniques have been lacking. He has no time to rack his brain about what Sarukui means, which times he could have shown any interest in him. Instead, he flares up like the firecracker he is.

“I didn’t say it, okay, _because_ I like you! Not just as- as an object to lust after, but as a friend. You’re important to me in more ways than just one. I was planning to tell you, every week- thinking up ways and words and what could be alright, and if it was even worth trying. Don’t get mad at me for not confessing, okay, it’s not easy when I like you so much!”

He’s pushed. His feet stumble backwards. In any other situation, Haruki would struggle, fight back, make the larger person fall on his face. In every other situation, it wouldn’t be Sarukui’s hands holding his shoulders, or Sarukui’s thumbs hurting him below the collarbone. The side street’s back alley is vacant of life except a cat fighting a crow over some trash, and Haruki’s eyes burn up, too, when his back is pushed against a wall. He’s trapped in every way, and Sarukui is right before him, mutual annoyance. 

The stink of the restaurant’s trash and other people’s litter makes Haruki realize how wrong this all is, how he should have prevented it. Sarukui’s hands aren’t letting go of him, and Haruki didn’t try to fight them one second. It’s not that he has a hidden thing for being dominated. He let’s Sarukui do it because it’s him. And he’s in love. He can’t move away from the wall he’s pushed against, needing the grounding. 

His hands shoot out, grabbing the jersey collar, and listens to the protest of Sarukui, who doesn’t want it to be ripped.

“I you don’t want me to pull it, get your head down to my line of sight, Saru.” Haruki can’t ask it in any other language, or say please, or explain himself. He wants Sarukui to understand, especially now that he knows he’s been understood -all not-so-secret glances and hidden wishes included. It doesn’t make this any easier, his ribcage in flames, his elbows shaking. 

Sarukui dips his head down, enabling Haruki to kiss him on the mouth he’s been daydreaming about. He pulls himself together enough not to crash into the softness he’s wanted for so long, and makes his own tongue stay put. There’s no way he won’t nibble at the bottom lip with his teeth though, and when he does, Sarukui responds.

No matter how imperfect the leading up to the kiss has been, the actual liplock is a gift. Haruki remembers how to move his head, granting some submission. He’s in control of the kiss, Sarukui’s fingers grabbing his shoulders as they’re unsure of what else to do. There’s a single sound between them, a wet sound of harmony of want and gratefulness.

Haruki feels a flush all over his skin, unbearable happy of how Sarukui’s scent is overpowering, how he looms over him, how every fibre of Haruki’s being wants to see in joy. Sarukui doesn’t back down in the least, making Haruki’s happiness even greater. He has to be the one to pull away, or else he wouldn’t know when to stop if he’d dip his tongue in.

Sarukui’s eyes are closed when Haruki opens his own. Their noses still brush together even when they lips aren’t in contact anymore. There’s no breath coming from Sarukui’s open lips. Haruki swallows, easing his hands over the white jersey, reaching up to the neck and check the pulse, finding a heartbeat in shambles. Sarukui only calms as one of Haruki’s thumbs circles under the jaw. Then he laughs, ticklish everywhere, inclining his head towards the offending thumb. Haruki blinks, grinning too when Sarukui’s mirth takes over.

What has become of the cat and the crow doesn’t matter. The stench around them doesn’t matter. Whatever bruises Haruki gets from this he will welcome. All that matters is that when he stands on his toes, Sarukui doesn’t make fun of him, but embraces him. What matters is that when they kiss a second time, chest to chest, it isn’t awkward or unwanted or fueled by impatient irritation. They walk back together laughing, pinky fingers linked.

Haruki forgets how to breathe upon entering the restaurant, when Washio snaps a picture of them. “For the album.”

“We have an album?” Sarukui asks, retrieving his finger from Haruki’s. Washio laughs, too. 

“Not yet. Bokuto said we should start one. We’re making a group picture.” His head light, Haruki follows Sarukui and Washio, where Bokuto, Konoha and Shirofuku are seated together. Most of the team are about to head back to the busses. Konoha and Bokuto argue about Bokuto losing his head a few times and their coach, Yamiji, joins in saying they can discuss this later. Haruki cannot stop glaring at Washio, at his timing, at the evidence in the camera which belongs to Bokuto. Their tallest first year hands the camera to Sakamoto who ruffles Haruki’s hair.

All the first years Bokuto managed to bind to his person sit around their brightest star player. Bokuto has his arms around Konoha and Shirofuku, Washio manages to squish behind Konoha and stands upright, one arm on Bokuto’s shoulders. Sarukui sits next to Shirofuku, and Haruki joins in behind him, both hands on the boy he’s been in love with for so long and finally kissed.

“Okay, three, two, one, hoot!” Sakamoto laughs, and they all make stupid faces creating owl noises. The moment of fun stops when they’re told they have to leave. There’s no time to get Washio apart from the rest or demand answers. It’s also impossible as Sarukui pushes him forward, away from starting wars, and tells him it’s alright. The first years go into the same bus, straight to the back of it. 

It takes until they arrive back at school, talk about the next opponent. Most of the second string and cheer squad have left. The first years backing Bokuto and Washio stay behind to listen. Once they’re dismissed, Haruki ducks under Sarukui’s arms and pins Washio before he can leave. They were the last to change and walk out of the gym.

It feels like the first day, back when they didn’t know each other. Haruki had made it his life’s efforts to challenge taller guys before they can utter a shorty joke. Washio never did. Most of the volleyball team respected skillful players, no matter the size. There had always been something about Washio from that first day which bothered Haruki, and he wants to find out what it was as well as requesting the contents of the camera. 

“Spill.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“Bullshit. I never questioned it, but why the hell did you glare me down on that first day? And why did you wait up for me and Sarukui at the restaurant?”

“I didn’t do any of those things.” Washio crosses his arms, not letting Haruki explode. “First of all, you were the one staring at me like you had a personal problem, and I thought we had faced each other in a middle school match. I couldn’t remember seeing you, and watched just to make sure. I then introduced myself to find out if we had met and I plainly forgot. It’s not like I knew what you were back then, Komi.” 

“Sounds plausible.” Haruki nods, feeling Sarukui’s presence coming closer. Before Haruki can repeat his second question, Sarukui asks about the picture.

Washio looks to the side, his shy side resurfacing after such a long time of being hidden from them. 

“Bokuto asked me to find you guys to make a group picture. You weren’t inside and when I came out… Well.” Washio has the dignity not to blush, but Haruki and Sarukui do it for him. They look at each other, put on the spot. Their friend doesn’t go into details what he saw or what he heard, and they’re rather happy not knowing.

“Did you suspect anything… before?” 

“About you liking Sarukui? Not until the department store, but I didn’t want to assume or pry.” Washio looks back at him, the same hawkish features, dark eyes with a hint of eyebrows low over them. His face hasn’t changed one bit since the first time Haruki met him, but he looked so much kinder and friendlier now that he knew him. 

Haruki holds out his fist for Washio to bump it, and Sarukui beams as there’s no conflict. Washio promises to keep Bokuto’s camera and send them the picture later, apologizing for not being able to hold back making it.

Outside, they find Shirofuku teasing Konoha and Bokuto about rice balls. Konoha looks over to the trio, not a hint of annoyance for having to wait. Bokuto, as usual, says they’re ought to get ice cream, calling it Victory Ice Cream. One look at Sarukui lets Haruki know that they can wait telling the rest. All sorts of things can wait now, when Haruki finds himself at peace.

*~*~*

Hugging a volleyball on top of his forehead while lying in bed, Haruki finds his body in a strange restive mood. It’s a 180 degrees change to the past few days, when he went through a rollercoaster of emotions. Its starts with the eagerness to meet Sarukui at school, to kiss in hidden spots and hold hands. Having no reason to hold back, Haruki now walks Sarukui all the way home, or let’s Sarukui bike him half through the city where Haruki lives. They don’t have time for dates, with preliminaries at full force. The only thing that comes close to a date is the agreement of the Fukuroudani first years, led by Bokuto and Washio, to hit the fitness room on their only free afternoon this week.

Nonetheless, Haruki is happy. Letting the volleyball fall off his head and bounce on the bed, he spreads his arms eagle-wide, inhaling deeply.

“Yamato.” He’s been testing the name out for a while now, waiting for a moment where he can say it. ‘Saru’ is already close, but now that they’re together, surely it’s time to move ahead? Unsure about how fast Saru- Yamato would like to go, Haruki’s content to wait. 

When his phone buzzes, he turns on his side, hugging the pillow close to himself. It’s a message from Yamato. It’s one of those ‘what are you doing?’ messages, which have come the past three evenings. And they always ended up texting for hours on end.

 **Received** : 22:23  
**From** : Saru  
**Subject** : -  
**Message** : By the way… I guess it’s stupid asking but. We’re ‘boyfriends’ now, yeah?

Knowing that no one can see him, Haruki laughs into the pillow, insanely happy with his life. He types back a message consisting more of kaomoji’s throwing stars and hearts as well as double kaomoji’s high fiving, replying ‘Yes, dummy, of course!’

*~*~* 

It had been a long time coming. Washio and Bokuto confess they’ve been to the fitness room before. Konoha’s reaction is a mingle of being thankful he wasn’t dragged along, and disliking the fact they went without him. Washio, ever the dry jester, wonders how little weight Konoha would even be able to lift. The three of them vanish towards the weights, Konoha and Bokuto teasing each other back and forth. 

The fitness room at their academy isn’t big, but as the baseball team has their own one closer to their frounds, and the basketball team’s coach owns a gym in town they can use, there’s enough space for the other sports clubs to increase their strength and core muscles. The clubs having different days off also helps out a ton.

“Wanna do lower body stuff?” Haruki asks, a second too late. He sees Yamato’s face redden, and then has to explain how he meant lower body strength and abs. Sighing, Yamato nods, and they roll out a mat to do crunches on. Washio appears at their side, knowing that Yamato hasn’t worked out a lot coming to high school. In a few minutes, they get a personal training menu, and Washio tells Haruki to do other things afterwards. He also, somehow, puts them in a corner apart from the rest, given privacy. Konoha and Bokuto fight over dumbbells, which Haruki believes Konoha couldn’t handle.

He’s brought back by Washio’s voice, stern and piercing.

“Help out Sarukui first. For example, you can sit on stomach. Sarukui, you’re supposed to keep your stomach hard under the weight.” Washio says and when he does, it sounds like he doesn’t have a underlining agenda except helping his friends train, as well as have some alone time. He turns when Bokuto drops a dumbbell dangerously close to Konoha’s toes, and has to cease fire over there.

“Okay.” Yamato nods, lying down and waiting for Haruki to sit down. Even with Washio out of hearing distance, they both have to hold back a laughing fit when Haruki lowers himself.

“You alright big guy?”

Yamato giggles when Haruki’s fingers play dirty and tickle him. They play around, unseen and unheard by others. Haruki shows Yamato to put his hands behind his head and link them, elbows to the side. 

“Don’t make full pull ups if you can’t. You’re not supposed to kiss me, anyway.” Haruki says coolly, almost kicked off when Yamato wriggles beneath him. His feet on the floor, knees up, he feels awkward, but remembers he’s here to help his boyfriend, who pulls up for the crunches. Haruki keeps count for him, also trying not to stare right at him. In no time, Yamato grunts under the weight and the difficulty, short breaths exiting his lips, which press when he’s doing an extra hard sit up. 

It comes to Haruki that this might have been a bad idea. Yamato’s seriousness causes sweat to run down his temple, and his deep grunts transform to filthier things between Haruki’s ears, which colour as an side effect. Although he made jokes about ‘no kissing’, he would like to bend forward and peck Yamato every time he reaches close enough. Below Haruki’s ass, Yamato’s stomach is as hard as rock. It doesn’t help at all that they’re so close. Haruki’s mind drifts, thinking of pinning those arms down on the matt, hover over Yamato, and kiss him on the mouth. 

When Yamato notices his stomach is not the only hard thing, he rests his elbows below him on the matt, looking at Haruki’s face. 

“You alright?” Yamato voices the same question back at Haruki, who laughs it off and looks elsewhere. There’s white noise in his ears, pure panic. He can’t hear the others, and only feels his teenage emotions throb down below. His hands are splayed on Yamato’s chest, also a wrong place as his palms are getting sweatier by the second. When Yamato reaches up, Haruki slides backwards, right to the spot his ass shouldn’t be, smack in the middle of Yamato’s lap. 

Yamato’s arms loop behind him, and their faces are close enough that Haruki has to face him. Lips dry and moist kiss his, and Yamato’s nose brushes over his, whispering nonsense over his summertime freckles. 

“It’s fine. Want me to help out?”

Impossible as it is, Yamato’s face colours worse and brighter than Haruki’s after the cool offering. They hadn’t talked about this earlier, not even in text or over the phone. Although Haruki’s been thinking about it for months, this was whole new ground for Yamato, and he didn’t want to push just for his own sake. Shaking his head, holding Yamato’s face and kissing the sweet face, he declines the kind offer. 

“I’ll go to the bathroom for a sec… Can you uh, ask the others to help you out?” It’s what Haruki asks, a need for them to face the other way while he can sneak past to the bathrooms. The fitness has a few outside cabins, connecting to a larger bathroom with showers and a huge bath. On the other side were the basketball and volleyball gymnasiums. 

Not quite sure but honouring Haruki’s request, Yamato nods. Without looking down, they both stand up, and Yamato walks towards the rest, gaining their attention. Holding his stomach and feigning fatique, Yamato distracts them long enough for Haruki to make his escape. He also has to dodge other visitors of the fitness area, but makes it to a lonely cabin safely.

He’d wished he wouldn’t have to jack off like this anymore. But when his hand goes down his shorts and he leans the other hand and his forehead against the door stall, he believes it might be one of the last times he has to do this alone. Biting his bottom lip, he thinks of his favourite, most sexual subject; Yamato.

The training goes by without further accident. When the boys are done (Haruki more than others, despite not doing a lot of proper ‘work out’, they head out. 

Outside school, Konoha leans into Bokuto’s space, hands in his pockets and his face full of a filthy grin which makes his eyes squint. He looks more like a snake than a fox to Haruki, who won’t say it out loud because of the Nohebi team in their district. 

“Say, Bokuto. You sure you don’t need another calming sleep over before the semi-finals this weekend?”

Bokuto puffs up his chest, indignant. “Hey hey hey! I don’t need that shit okay? I’m feeling really awesome!” They exchange a few words, while Washio bows towards Haruki and Sarukui, leaves first. Konoha notices, and runs after him, feeling betrayed to be left behind, enough so to leave Bokuto alone. Bokuto leaves for his own train station, which is the other way.

“See you guys tomorrow! Half hour early, okay, Saru!? I need to get those spikes down a 100%” Bokuto announces, walking backwards and his arms lifted. Sarukui nods, him and Haruki walking towards Sarukui’s house. 

After all, they too like to say goodbye to each other, although it’s quite different than from saying goodbye to their friends. Finding a dark alley, parking Sarukui’s bike to the wall, Haruki’s fingers slide inside Sarukui’s palms, linking their fingers. One on reaching the up, the other reaching down, they find the perfect midway to kiss for a while before heading their separate ways, as it’s quite late and Sarukui won’t allow Haruki to linger too long.

“See you.”

“Yeah, see ya tomorrow, Saru. And remember, _10 minutes_ earlier than what Bokuto told you, yeah?” Haruki grins. After all, he likes his ‘good morning’ kisses more than the ‘good night’ ones. 

*~*~*

“Oh good, you’re here. I need help.” Washio pokes his head around the corner, looking at Konoha and waving him over. Konoha gives his friends, standing by his side, a look, then slumps forward. There were three spots for the Tokyo teams to enter nationals, and Fukuroudani is in neither of them. Losing both the semi-final and the match for third place, the rows of Fukuroudani supporters have walked out of the city gymnasium disappointed. Hoping to give Bokuto and Washio words of encouragement, Yamato had made Haruki and Konoha come and find them in one of the hallways. 

“Come on big guy, bus is waiting.” Konoha says in a low voice. Rounding the same corner, Haruki finds a gloomy person sitting on the floor, legs outstretched in v-formation, shoulders and heads low. He’s never seen Bokuto like this. Washio and Konoha take him by the arms, trying to lift their friend off the floor. Yamato, face full of pity, takes Washio’s and Bokuto’s bag. The words of encouragement fall on deaf ears. When they reach one of the exits where the bus is waiting, Bokuto relieves them off his weight, walking forward, head down in defeat and shame. 

He doesn’t say anything all the way back to school. The meeting for the team is short, and coach Yamiji says they’ll work on the flaws during the summer camps held at various locations. Bokuto’s shoulders are clapped and his head ruffled, but the only words from his mouths are apologies. 

“Let’s get ice cream,” Washio suggests, and they agree in low voices, all except Bokuto. “Come on Bokuto, ‘loser ice cream’. I’m in the mood for chocolate.”

Yamato puts the bag he carried back around Bokuto’s shoulder, who might as well succumb under the weight, but silently agrees to go with them. Being a good guy, Yamato keeps close to their friend, and Haruki suffers a deep sigh through his nose. Fistbumping Bokuto’s chest, he heads out first, letting the other three push Bokuto forward and onwards. 

“I’ll make the team, and receive all the balls you mess up at the blocks, Bokuto.” Haruki says it without shame, watching the gates ahead. He’d feel embarrassed by his own words if he’d seen their reactions, but doesn’t linger and walk on. 

Arriving at the store, they see Shirofuku coming out. Her eyes are red, and she carries a family package of expensive brand ice cream, waving to the boys. Bokuto sees her, looking down again, then gets a Magnum ice pushed against his cheek. Half of them snort and laugh silently, and Shirofuku relaxes too when Bokuto retreats from the cold, but still takes the offered ice cream.

While Shirofuku distributes the frozen goods, they walk to the benches where they’d gone the first time post-practice. 

There are three benches, each fitting three persons, but Bokuto takes one for himself lying on his back, his head towards Konoha’s legs. Washio is on the other side, down-trodden and contemplating opening his package, while Shirofuku sits down beside him. Haruki and Yamato take the last bench, slowly opening their ice cream packages as well and start eating. The silence is broken when Bokuto’s annoyed grunt rummages through the air, and they all look to the team’s most energetic player, brought down low. 

“I think I’m depressed.” Bokuto says at last, his brows furrowing in irritation. Konoha slaps his forehead. 

“You’re a little down in the dumps after losing this much. Depression is a serious condition and you will get over this, idiot.” Konoha looks down on him, annoyed too. Then he brandishes his ice cream at Haruki. “And about you joining the team; I’ll go first, shrimpy.”

“Ohoho, really now?” Haruki laughs, liking the challenge. He’s fairly sure Yamato is a better player in certain terms, but then again he might be biased. 

Someone who might need the change of subject as much as Bokuto, is Washio, who asks them all what they’re doing during summer. Shirofuku explains how she’s going to visit family in Kyoto, between the training camps. When the rest falls silent, Washio invites the boys over for summer. 

“When no one has club activities, we usually go to visit my uncle in Daisen. The Akita prefecture is really cool during the summer period. We hang out a lot at the river side and there’s a BBQ nearly every evening. My mom said I should bring friends but… I waited.” He doesn’t finish the sentence, it being clear they all hoped Fukuroudani would make it to nationals. 

Yamato lifts his hand, counting himself out and explaining the fruit picking exploration with his grandparents and siblings. Haruki remembers he agreed to join that too, and apologizes to Washio not being able to go to Akita. Konoha looks at them, befuddled, then returns his questioning gaze to Washio.

“Where do you parents live, then?” Konoha asks, as they know Washio lives with a grandparent, same as Yamato. Washio explains how his family came from Akita, but how his father and uncle have moved between Akita and Tokyo prefectures due to work. His mother and aunt were in charge of administrations, and usually followed their husbands. Washio had grown up in Tokyo most of his childhood, and only spent his middle school years in Akita. Konoha is surprised. 

“He~eh. You always wanted to play in Tokyo then?” 

Washio nods, a smile returning to his lips.

“Well damn, I have nothing to do so… Sure, I’ll come. And you too, Bokuto.” Konoha says to his friend still in low spirits. 

“I don’t know if I can leave Tokyo…” Bokuto mumbles, eating his ice cream at a much slower speed. 

“The summer heat here is killer. Also, none of us will be here. Won’t you feel lonely?” Konoha asks, and Bokuto contemplates it. 

“Hnnn, I don’t know. I have to ask my mom…”

“Like she would say know when you come home like this!” Konoha laughs, throwing away the stick of his finishes ice cream. “She’ll probably agree to anything as long as you’d stop moping. Seriously…”

The mood becomes a bit brighter once they talk vacation details, and Bokuto even sits up for it, shoulders and heads still low, but much more involved into the conversation. Haruki doesn’t feel happy exactly, but the reminder of spending his summer with Yamato, under the new conditions, makes his chest lighter. 

*~*~*

The weekend after the loss, practice is rougher than usual. All the regulars, bench-sitters, and those aspiring to be part of the team raise the level. The training is louder, and while there’s still fun to be had, it's subdued under the mass of need for improvement. 

Bokuto isn’t his old self yet. Throughout the week he was more silent, missed a lot of his spikes or served out of bounds. His frustrations fuels the rest as well. 

When Haruki thinks his focus is indestructible and that he will be able to receive better on pure grievance, Yamato slumps over his back, leaning in heavy. They’re outside for a water break and there’s no one else around. Yamato’s arms are sweaty, and there’s a musk around him that engulfs Haruki and his senses. He hasn’t forgotten the disaster that was fitness, and tries to elbow Yamato off him.

“Can I come to your place tonight? I finished volume 5…” Yamato murmurs into Haruki’s ear in a way which hints at doing more than just reading One Piece. Surprised and happy with the initiative, Haruki agrees, saying he would have to ask his mom and inform of another mouth to feed. 

“Sure thing, Saru.” He hasn’t been able to say his first name just yet.He teases Yamato instead for being only at volume 5 so far, after weeks of borrowing Haruki’s stuff. “We can also start watching the anime if you like. I have the series.” 

Yamato nods and quickly kisses him on the lips, before they hear someone coming out of the gym. 

Haruki’s heart beats faster when they go back inside, and he misses half of the receives on first serve, too. 

The sixth volume lies below their feet, well, below Yamato’s. Haruki has his own tucked beneath and between the longer legs, and Yamato’s arms hold him loosely. They’re making out, slow and careful of noises. Haruki has found it impossible to keep his hands out of Yamato’s dark brown hair, and pets it, messes it up, tugs it whenever he wants to. Yamato allows anything to be done, and his hands are just as touchy-feely, going lower and lower without ever being too low on Haruki’s back. 

Not that he would mind, but he understands Yamato’s unwillingness to do too much at a time. 

Pausing in the kiss, Haruki takes a few last nibbles at Yamato’s mouth. His eyes are still closed when he’s asking the same question he’s posed before.

“Tell me again.”

Yamato snorts, his nose brushing Haruki’s forehead. 

“When you kept watching me during practice in the beginning… I thought it was just to assert things. But then you kept watching my mouth when I ate that Magnum ice cream, and you didn’t look at the others like that.” Yamato starts, giving more details than before. For him too, analyzing Haruki’s behaviour since they met became more detailed the more they talked about it. 

“Ah shit, you noticed that?” Haruki doesn’t hide, giving Yamato an apologetic look. 

“Yeah, lingering touches and the way you checked me out all the time. I didn’t know what to think of it, but saw you didn’t do it with anyone else. It felt… weird. Feeling so special to you.” Yamato says it unsure, as if he still couldn’t believe a guy fell for him. Haruki hums, content at being held and to feel so cozy in Yamato’s embrace. Then Yamato analyzes how Haruki behaved during training camp, a moment in Haruki’s life he knew he wanted Yamato a lot more than just for lusty reasons.

“You tried to act so cool in front of me, pulling dangerous stunts.” Yamato sighs, and Haruki has to hold back headbutting his chest.

“Dude, I jumped off a tree _one time_!”

“You did a backflip off a branch, Komiyan.” Yamato sighs, the memory making his face look the same as when Haruki pulled the trick. He couldn’t deny why he did it, for the exact reason Yamato deduced it to be. Meanwhile, Yamato’s fingers circle under Haruki’s shirt, trying to appease the small beast in his arms. Haruki allows his mood to be calmed down by those perfect fingers touching his skin. 

“I guess during the beach outing I kinda… started to know that you had feelings for me and that I didn’t mind them as such. Afterwards I couldn’t help but think about things...“ Yamato looks over Haruki’s head, who won’t allow a change of subject or other diversion. He pulls Yamato’s face to himself again without wanting to kiss him for once. The lips must be free to speak, after all.

“Okay, spill it. What kind of things did you think about?”

“Uh…” Yamato’s eyes look up, to Haruki’s headboard. Changing tactics, Haruki falls on his back, pulling Yamato towards himself as much as he can. Widening his legs, he guides Yamato to lie between. For someone who has little to none sexual experience, Yamato’s face lights up in perfect blushing hues, looking down and unsure how much of his weight can go down. He settles on his elbows, not wanting to crush Haruki. 

“Have you gone this far?” Haruki asks, trying to word it as nice and understanding as possible. Yamato glances at him, between them, and then shakes his head. 

“I never even undressed before someone else with that kind of intent.” The words are a mere whisper, embarrassed for the lack of interesting things done. Haruki kisses the cheeks, one after the other, telling him it’s alright. After all, it means Haruki can teach him, have Yamato for himself. He likes the thought of being Yamato’s first’, to see everything no one else has before. 

“What have you done… before?” Wanting to keep the focus off himself, Yamato looks down on Haruki, his eyes searching his face. 

Haruki shrugs, saying truthfully: “Fooling around.”

“How much fooling around?” Yamato doesn’t let loose, making Haruki widen his smile to a dirty grin. Wiggling his eyebrows and flexing his pinky finger, he answers. 

“This much.” It takes a few seconds for Yamato’s mind to catch up what a ‘finger length’ could do for a boy, and when his brain provides the images, a visible change is shown to Haruki. Yamato blushes again, hiding his face in Haruki’s neck, whispering ‘Oh god’. Haruki laughs and pats his back. “Oi oi, big guy, you’re crushing me.”

They fall back into the previous position, and Haruki bends himself to retrieve the One Piece manga off his back. Whatever Yamato’s plan had been for tonight, Haruki knows it’s not going to go further than where they just were. Then, he turns around on the bed, snuggling his ass into Yamato’s lap for good measure, and opens the first page. He’s still astonished Yamato hasn’t made it even close to anything super interesting in the story, which, for Haruki, starts around Chopper’s introduction. 

“I’m gonna decide the pace on this, okay?” Haruki says, not actually meaning their relationship. Well not really, since a lot of it would depend on Yamato’s wishes. The understanding of it is mutual, and Yamato nods, kissing his neck. Haruki’s chest warms up by the arms surrounding him, Yamato humming an agreement into his neck. Haruki flips through the pages to his own reading pace, which syncs up pretty okay to Yamato’s, minus the numerous pauses he would take in between. They had dinner, and Haruki had requested from his family to take a later bath. Yamato’s lips are at his ear, forming no danger for him.

“I do look forward to fool around with you, Komi.” 

Haruki reacts coolly, smiling through his ‘yes’-humming. He also hopes the heat of his ears and neck won’t burn Yamato. 

They’re going to have one hell of a hot summer for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled forever over chapter lengths, but couldn't cut them properly :'D this chapter is about 10k words strong, and the final chapter will be 12k :'''DD


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good god i'm so happy to finally post the last chapter of this behemoth. It should have been an epilogue and i could have done it in half the words but... I wanted them to go somewhere else and have a trip~ Plus I wanted their first time (HAHAHAHA YES ITS HAPPENING) to be really special :D in the end it got long-winded and huge, just the way i started this fic off.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry for the unbeta'd chapters, but I can't just let this story die out because I can't find anyone to read over 60+k words :D~ this time it's quality over quantity.
> 
> To those who love this ship as much as I do, here's to them and their awesome plays of the future uvu
> 
> I wish you all a happy new year in advance~!!

Undercut freshly shaven, Haruki walks back into his room to get his things and head downstairs. Putting the sunglasses he bought with his friends during the last shopping trip, he texts Konoha back he will bring the owl shirt. Taking his bag for the trip off the floor, Haruki then exits his room, carrying a rucksack over his shoulders, and thunders down the stairs. His mother, hearing his approach, asks the customary questions.

“Do you have your wallet? Keys? Haruki, did you double check if you packed everything?” She asks from the kitchen counter, packing a bento and wrapping it. Haruki’s father had made deep fried shrimps especially for today’s lunch, making them in a way Haruki loved to eat cold. He sighs at his mother’s question, reacting sarcastic and saying no to everything.

He puts his bag on the kitchen at the same time his mother tells him there’s money and written phone numbers for emergencies. Happy, Haruki allows the nagging of his mother when he takes the cash off the table, shoving it into his hand and right into his pockets. Then he sees the other items, which his mother didn’t mention by name. He blinks at the packages, the absurdity of them being right here in the kitchen, not just bought but also placed here by his mother for his sake. He takes one of the flat, square packages, his face warming up just by touching it.

“Mom, what the hell is all this..?” The question is rhetorical, given he knows what exactly he’s seeing. Past the condom package between his index finger and thumb, he looks at the two colourful bottles of lubrication and a box of condoms, from which he took one of them to hold up before his eyes. His mother, flustered, turns around, placing his bento on the table.

He hadn’t told his mother directly he and Yamato were together. The first time Haruki brought Yamato over, while Yamato was making small talk in the hallway and putting his shoes neatly aside, there had been an exchange between mother and son. An unspoken exchange of looks, full of understanding. When Yamato had looked up, the mother and son exchange was done, and Haruki knew he didn’t have to inform his mother with details anytime soon. She just left them alone to their own devices. This was a breach of an unspoken agreement of not talking about Haruki’s sexuality or his infatuation with Yamato. 

“Look, I know you like him a lot and it’s no mystery to me what teenage boys are like-”

“Mom, _please_.” Haruki begs her, even redder, putting the condom back into the box.

“- and I just want you to be safe! I know you kids can’t get this yourself and. Well, I’m a concerned mother! And I want you to have fun so- so I did research and-”

“Oh my god, mom.” Haruki closes his eyes and hides behind his hands. His mother looked this stuff up, all for his sake. It’s both heartwarming and horrifying. He can’t help smiling behind his hands as he drags them over his eyes and cheeks and to his mouth, looking at her and then at the purchases. 

“Just take it with you okay, or keep it in your room! I bought enough so you can share with Yamato-kun and. Okay I’ll stop embarrassing you now.” His mother ends, taking bottled juices from the fridge to place on the table, too. “Pack it all and take it with you, if you need it or not is not my concern anymore after this.”

“Gee, thanks.” Haruki puts the things in his bag; lube and condoms going deep, deep down below his clothes. Once he packs the lunch and the bottled drinks, his mother rounds the table and gives him a kiss on the forehead, wishing him fun and ruffles his hair. She also tells him to be nice to Yamato’s family and where he will stay, requesting text messages once he arrives and the phonenumber of the place.

“And don’t forget it, Haruki. Okay, i’ll give you the ride to Yamato-kun’s house. I guess you don't need the talk.”

“No, I don't. Thanks. I'm horrified enough as it is.” Haruki says, receiving a push in the back of his head towards the door. His mother chastises him but doesn’t press the matter or asks anything else, for which he’s grateful.

*~*~*

Sitting in the train for so long Haruki welcomes the short ride from the station they exited to the countryside in the back of the Sarukui family pickup truck. Yamato’s grandparents had left Tokyo by car, but it would’ve been a hazard to take everyone with them. So, they had paid for the train rides their grandchildren and Haruki would need to take from Tokyo center to the prefecture’s countryside. 

The trip, apart from the long sitting in the train, had been pleasurable. Haruki met Yamato’s siblings in the flesh, even though he didn’t really got to know them. Upon arrival at the Sarukui house, the younger siblings, Daisuke and Fumiko, had taken a liking to Haruki. The oldest Sarukui named Atsushi, had been curt, stressed. Carrying luggage belonging to himself and his two youngest siblings, the glasses and polo wearing youngster, a head shorter than his younger brother, had pushed his family out of the doorway without greeting Haruki, saying they were late for the trains. 

On the ride itself, the same brother had hid himself behind entrance exam studies. Daisuke and Fumiko had fallen asleep next to him, letting Yamato and Haruki hold hands below the table. They’d talked about their favourite fruits, limited sightseeing of the area they were heading to, and looking forward to the onsen. 

The Sarukui brothers looked a lot like each other, starting with the hair, the eyebrows, and the funny shaped mouth. Their personalities were nothing alike. If Yamato had a nerdy side to him, punctuality taken into account, Atsushi was a bookworm and stressed about his entrance exams like every third year wishing to go to a good university. Fumiko had the same hair, if not equally thick eyebrows, and lacked the same mouth entirely, looking very sweet. 

As of now, the youngest siblings were running in the hallways of the traditional Japanese styled inn. During the short car ride, grandfather Sarukui had put Yamato’s older brother in charge of the two youngest, arguing with his oldest grandson that Yamato looked after them the rest of the year. It was clear to Haruki that Atsushi would have rather studied from morning until evening, and wasn’t looking forward to sharing a room with his younger siblings. To their luck, Haruki and Yamato had this room for themselves. The weight of his mother’s gifts had been hot in Haruki’s head, but he chose to forget about them for now.

“Do we start today, or-” He asked Yamato, who opened the sliding door leading to the gardens. Yamato looked at home here, the sun shining on his skin and the warmth lighting up Haruki’s soul. Shaking his head, Yamato explained how everyone who arrived today would get a tour, and an explanation of rules and work times. Yamato knew them by heart, and told them to Haruki as they unpacked their clothes and toiletries. The fruit picking in this area was half volunteer work, and they would stay at this inn for free. During the day, they would be on the farms and fields, picking various fruits for themselves, Yamato’s neighbours, and villages close by. 

“You should bring some back for your family, too.” Yamato said, as he went out to check on his younger siblings. Haruki followed suit, finding that the oldest Sarukui had troubles keeping his siblings in check, and regretted being here already. Yamato seems to enjoy seeing his older brother at a loss, and leaves him alone to take care of the other two.

“I’ll show you around.” Taking Haruki’s wrist, Yamato gives a tour. They’re the first to arrive it seems. Haruki hasn’t gone to inn’s like this often, and was thrilled to spend so much time with Yamato here. Especially the outside hot springs were something he looked forward to a lot. Rounding back to the room they stay in, Yamato closes the door behind Haruki, then pushes him against it for a kiss. 

Since meeting the Sarukui family, the busy train ride, sitting in the back of a pickup truck, they didn’t have time for this. Easing into the arms and the lips, Haruki grins while his lips brush Yamato’s. From the outside the sliding door, sounds of nature unheard off in Tokyo city drift in, the warmth of summer filling the room’s probability of what can happen. 

Yamato’s lashes tickle Haruki’s face, who doesn’t open his own eyes for a few seconds. He listens to the silent, happy voice trailing over his cheeks. 

“I’m really happy you came here, Komiyan.”

*~*~*

Not needing to get to know the basics, the Sarukui grandparents take their unwilling oldest grandson and their eager youngest two out for a hike. Yamato is left in charge to take care of Haruki, and they decided to take a stroll to have Haruki get used to the surroundings. They came close to the fields they’ll visit daily starting tomorrow. 

The inn is still silent, the newcomers and old seasoned returners scheduled to arrive in the evening. Given the afternoon off, Haruki uses it to his advantage. Behind shut sliding panels, music coming from an old stereo plugged in at the garden exit, Haruki slides himself over Yamato. Mouth once more on exploration course, loving the way Yamato writhes beneath him, unable to keep his lower body still when Haruki’s mouth goes lower. He doesn’t push Yamato to the point of undressing, though. 

It’s Yamato who takes Haruki’s hair in a harder grip, who guides him to his face, who sticks his tongue deep inside Haruki’s mouth to ravish it. The lazy coil of wet tongues drives them both crazy, and Yamato unfurls more and more of his base erotic nature. His fingers go below the shirt, circling his fingers and blunt nails on Haruki’s spine, as low as he can reach. The heat from their mouths expands even lower, and Haruki finds them both hot and bothered in mere minutes. Finding it appropriate, he circles his lips, grinding his bulge against Yamato’s.

Pausing the kiss, Yamato looks well enraptured; his eyes still closed and his mouth inhaling the hot air between them, he needs a moment to understand how far into they’ve gotten. Haruki, grinning as he likes the route they’re taking, brings his fingers off the dark brown hair and lowers them to the shoulders. He wants to ask if Yamato wants to continue. Those words die in his throat however, when Yamato’s lids uncover the dilated pupils, the lusty gaze crossing from Haruki’s lips, to his eyes, and down below where their pulsating needs meet.

He then pushes Haruki off him, leaving both their asses on the tatami mats. For a second Haruki’s face shows how much he’s wanted to keep the contact between them, but he’d understood Yamato’s shyness. Shyness, of which none is to be found in the voice, a deep drawl of lust making Yamato incapable of closing his lips before he speaks. Hands grip Haruki’s hips, the thumbs right at the dips below the bone. Yamato leans his forehead against Haruki’s, drops it to his chin, breathes against Haruki’s swallowing throat.

“I want to do more than kiss, Komi.” What those things do entail is impossible for Yamato to utter, Haruki can only fathom. He rubs the back of the fluffy brown hair, grinning and kissing the other’s lip softer than before. 

“Leave it to me.” Even if Yamato cannot do much, doesn’t know how to start; giving Haruki at least a hint of need is enough for the other to kickstart the next steps. He knows an easy route, sexy enough to get Yamato’s blood boiling and not having him be afraid of it. Not mentioning what they can do, Haruki opens Yamato’s pants, zipping open the dark jeans. The hands on his skin grip him tighter, nervous of what will happen. Haruki resumes kissing the neck of his boyfriend, his hands going below the fabrics to cop a feel. It’s the first time he allows himself this much, and his breath hitches feeling Yamato for the first time. 

“Shhh, easy. I won’t hurt you.” Haruki breathes at the neck, needing to keep himself in check and not mark Yamato. Whispering instructions, he makes Yamato do the same for him, freeing them both of their lower restraints. The operation needs patience, and Haruki, not looking, strokes Yamato without looping his fingers around the hardening member. 

Believing Yamato’s mind to be hazy enough to undress, Haruki opens his eyes, telling Yamato to remove his pants, at least to the knees. They both do, and Haruki doesn’t care that his cheeks are coloured redder than ever. He holds Yamato’s hard member loosely in his hands, enjoying the view; dark brown pubic curls behind, the sack half hidden behind the shorts still. Yamato blushes all the way from his head to his shoulders, eyes not watching Haruki at all. His hands returned to the safety of Haruki’s hips. 

Kissing the lips again, Haruki needs to calm Yamato down, finally telling what he had in mind.

“First, we’ll do something easy so you can get used to this. Pleasure yourself.” Haruki removes his hand from Yamato, caressing the bare skin of his thighs. He watches Yamato’s shy hand as it takes a hold of his own member, not yet stroking it. To overcome his hesitancy, Haruki kisses him again, just like before. In between kisses, when Yamato keeps his eyes shut and his hand slow-moving, Haruki resumes his instructions. “Match my pace.”

As slow as Haruki kisses him, they stroke their own dicks, Haruki’s legs over Yamato’s thighs, pants low. Haruki lost his already, needing to be unrestraint in his endeavors to make Yamato lose himself. They pause, breathing the same air, and Haruki asks if Yamato is ready to go on. First there’s no answer, then a shaky nod. 

“Relax, I won’t eat you.” Haruki grins, then says “Not yet, anyway.” 

Sliding forward, he makes their dicks touch, then looks down to see what he’s doing. His hand goes around Yamato’s member, and he assigns him to do the same. Touching eat other, the lower side of their dicks flush together, Haruki attacks the hot mouth in front of him with more force, using tongue and teeth to engulf Yamato in the pleasure. It works wonders; Yamato’s free arm goes around him, pulling him closer. Angling their heads and keeping their lips shut together, tongues moving as fast as their hands, joined in by the hips. Yamato buckles under the erotic touch between them, making sounds in his throat which Haruki gobbles up, responding with his own. 

He’s driving Yamato right over the edge, and it blossoms. Yamato let’s go of his dick, then both his hand round Haruki’s ass, in every way he needs it right now. The pull is even stronger, and Yamato lifts him off the tatami mat and right into his lap, their cocks still frotting together as Haruki using one hand for them both. He keeps himself somewhat steady as his other hand still holds Yamato’s shoulder. Grinding his hips forward, Haruki is overcome by the hands that drive him, which grab his ass with such needy and wanton lust. 

“Ah yeah like that. Feels good.” Haruki whispers praise on Yamato’s lips, happy from all the contact. Currently unable to open his eyes, he kisses and misses Yamato’s mouth more and more, the hunger in him not caring. Yamato is long gone, too, incapable to form any distinct words. 

Months of need release in a single instant, Haruki coming first and grunting into Yamato’s chest, his forehead thud done on the other shoulder he’s not gripping iron tight. He keeps his hips moving when he comes, and feels Yamato’s pulsating cock ready to join. They’re a mess in the middle of the room, and don’t move once they’re both spilled themselves. 

Yamato’s hands move from his ass to embrace him, holding tight for a few minutes. Neither of them speaks for as long as their breathes need to play catch up, inhaling air to their heaving lungs. Before either can move, Yamato kisses Haruki’s temple.

“That’s felt incredible…” He whispers, his brain still sounding half-dead and not totally here. Haruki laughs, shaking his head that this finally happened. Yamato breathes out, not moving. “Give me a moment. I don’t think I can stand right now.”

“Sure thing.” Haruki snorts, his own knees unstable, too. 

 

*~*~* 

Instead of it being a satisfied need, crossed off his list, and enough to keep him satiated for a while, Haruki’s sex drive turns on after the first sexual encounter he has. The next morning, it doesn’t surprise him when he wakes up with a boner. Wiping the sleep off his eyes and facing the half open sliding door and the early morning sun, he groans when he feels the well-known tug below his shorts. 

Sighing, he wonders if he can steal away from Yamato to get rid off it. He can’t just jerk off next to the sleeping boy, after all. 

At least that’s what he thinks, when he finds out Yamato is not asleep at all. Turned on his side on top of the futon and watching Haruki, he’s very much awake, and very much aware of Haruki’s situation. While Haruki blinks his sleep away, remembering he didn’t dream the afternoon’s jerk off and frotting, Yamato’s hand travels below the covers where Haruki lies. The hand touches Haruki’s stomach first, pinky finger the closest to Haruki’s pleasure trail downwards.

“Need help?”

“Look at you being all confident.” Haruki grins, pushing his arm over his eyes. He can’t believe his luck. “I can take care of this myself, if you don’t mind watching.”

“Hmm. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet, so…” Yamato sits up, sweeps over Haruki, and before he can move a toe, the covers of their beds are pushed aside, and Yamato’s hand push his shorts low. Woken up by the sudden sight of Yamato’s head way too close to his center, Haruki tries to sit up. He’s not one to submit to a larger boy, but this is Yamato’s hand on his chest, keeping him down, his other hand between Haruki’s legs.

He doesn’t look at Haruki when he speaks. “I’ve watched… certain things online. When I suspected you liked me. Let me try this.”

What Haruki hadn’t thought possible this early in their relationship was Yamato’s open mouth on his cock. It’s too surreal to watch and Haruki stares at the ceiling instead. He doesn’t expect a blowjob to blow his mind, didn’t think Yamato would be into that. All this time, Haruki’s vision had been about him giving head to Yamato. Nonetheless, the lips kissing the underside of his cock are enough to edge his need, and he feels himself leaking. Yamato knows a little about jerking another guy off after yesterday, and does so slowly. He takes his time, tasting Haruki’s member from the tip to the balls, licking every surface he can get to. 

“Saru, watch it. I don’t think I can last long.” His hand goes over the shoulder closest to him, able to warn Yamato. Yamato’s hum is a hot breath on his dick, and Haruki shuts his eyes to enjoy it and not worry. Yamato moves to lie down better, being on his stomach and his hands covering Haruki’s right side hip and thigh, every so often touching and holding Haruki’s manhood to steady it for his mouth. It’s not a blowjob like Haruki had seen pictures and videos off, but it’s enough to make his stomach tighten. Covering his mouth, he mutes his moans as Yamato kisses him down below. 

He doesn’t care what ‘proper’ giving head should be like. He comes nonetheless under the strain, fingers grabbing Yamato’s shirt he slept in and warns him with a curse. When he doesn’t face Yamato, knowing he’d come again just seeing him right there, Yamato slides up and touches his face.

“Are you okay? Was it that bad?”

“Jesus shut up for a second.” Haruki curses, slowly regaining some sort of composure.

He loses that right away when he opens his eyes and comes face to face with Yamato, whose mouth and cheek are covered in Haruki’s seed. He rolls away and pulls his boxershorts up, leaving Yamato wondering what the hell is wrong with him. Yamato goes after him, his arms curling around Haruki and stopping him from rolling too far away. Haruki laughs under the touch, then finds tissues close by to clean Yamato’s mouth, half-blind with laughter and half-closing his eyes ‘cause he can’t handle this morning for what it is.

“Komiyan?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fucking wonderful.” Unbrushed teeth left aside, Haruki kisses Yamato’s cheek, then pats his back. “Let go of me, you crazy person.” 

Instead, he’s hugged more, raised up, and his neck kissed by Yamato, who's still unsure if he did it right or not. Patting his back some more, Haruki thanks him for the happy start of a new day. 

 

When they get ready for the day, Haruki finds Yamato adorning his own shades and laughs. They go out with the same owl shirt Bokuto made them buy, and the shades on, to breakfast. Yamato’s older brother isn’t pleased but they don’t care. After breakfast and freshen up, the two of them take a pictures together, grinning wildly. One of them has them kiss, but they send a safe one to Konoha. The text in the message reads ‘About to eat some fruits!’

Haruki has never been fruit picking before, and is glad when he finds out that the amount of people who’ve come here are spread out over their first field of apple trees. Yamato’s grandparents and siblings are on one end with them, while Yamato leads Haruki to the far end, giving them privacy. 

“Atsushi hates using the ladder and makes me grab all the apples, then throw it to his basket. I hit him on the nose, once.” Yamato explains, then crouches for Haruki to climb his shoulders. The apple trees at this end aren’t as large as the others, and they can reach them with their combined height easily. Holding a large burlap sack, Yamato lets Haruki get the apples and throw them down into it. The work is rather enjoyable. The sun shines not to hot here, and the trees give them lots of shade. Nonetheless, they keep their sunglasses on their noses. Every so often Yamato’s siblings check in on them; or rather, Fumiko and Daisuke run off to see their other older brother, while their oldest siblings has to bring them back.

“You guys…” Atsushi moans, then asks Yamato for his phone. 

“Back pocket.”

“Which ‘back pocket’... there’s five of them!”

“The one with the obvious outline of my phone, dummy.” Yamato sighs against Haruki’s thigh, who has to keep his laughter back. It’s not often he hears Yamato this salty. Lovely brotherhood.

“Tch, who even needs pants with this many pockets?” Atsushi asks once he finds Yamato’s phone, for reasons unknown. 

“They’re called cargo pants. And because they’re cool.” Haruki replies, throwing more apples down to Yamato, who catches them now and puts them carefully into the sack. They had gone shopping for those yet again, their only semi-date they had so far. 

“And why the sunglasses… The sun’s not even that bright.” Atsushi keeps nitpicking, pressing buttons on Yamato’s phone. Yamato copies Haruki’s reasoning, saying they’re cool.

“You look right stupid, Matt.” Atsushi says, then snaps a picture of them too. He puts Yamato’s phone back into one of the many pockets. By the sound of it, not the one he got it from. Yamato wiggled beneath Haruki, who has to steady himself touching Yamato’s crown. He tries not to think about this morning, about the things they could on the mornings hereafter. About the ways Haruki could pay Yamato back. His thoughts are broken apart when Atsushi speaks again. “There, Tokyo kids unable to leave Tokyo out of their veins. Looks funny.” 

“I’ve told you not to call me that. I don’t like that English name you think is cool since watching Digimon. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to watch Dai and Miko?” Yamato counters. His older brother curses, then goes to find the two younger siblings, leaving the lovers alone again. 

“Dai, Miko… ‘Matt’ is really bad though. What’s your brother’s nickname?” Haruki asks, biting into a smaller apple he finds appetizing looking. He offers a bite to Yamato, before he lets him answer.

“Sushi, _obviously_. He absolutely hates it.” Yamato grins, moving on to the next tree. Haruki barks a laugh, then gasps when he almost falls off Yamato’s shoulders. He’s secure here, though; Yamato’s strong hands and arms won’t let him fall, after all. 

*~*~*

Haruki is torn between being dead tired and elated. He has seen and eaten enough apples for the year, and can’t even think of the apple pie Yamato’s grandfather threatens to make. Past the afternoon, he’s heard a hundred apple recipes from the other fruit pickers. Daisuke and Fumiko don’t want to eat dinner, given the fact that between them, they ate 13 apples. 

Nonetheless, Haruki hasn’t enjoyed himself like this outside of volleyball. During lunch, Yamato and him were texting with Konoha, who responded with cool looking hiking views. There was a picture, too; Washio and Konoha holding a slightly better looking Bokuto between them, all adorning their shades and the owl shirt. Shirofuku, their only girl, had messaged a picture of here in full kimono attending a tea ceremony. As if the apples they had to endure weren’t enough Haruki also had the pleasure to know the taste of apple tea, which another granny made on the spot. 

“Good haul, don’t you think?” Yamato asks, as they unload the apples back at the inn. 

“I can’t see another shitty apple.” Haruki burps, still hearing Yamato’s laughter. Yamato then pushes him against the pantry; they were the last to return, as they hauled back more apples being the ‘young and strong ones’. They kiss as if they haven’t done so the entire day, whenever Yamato’s shoulders needed a break or they brought the sacks to the collecting place. Most of them would be sold by tomorrow already. Yamato had been the one pushing Haruki around, who for the first time ever, didn’t mind being manhandled, didn’t mind a larger boy standing over him and being dominant. 

Yamato’s dominance came from a new found confidence, and was mostly thriving on love and mutual need to kiss Haruki. The latter liked it. 

Parting, Haruki chases the bottom lip and bites it, tasting apple. 

“Saru, you’re gonna be a fruits basket at the end of this week.”

“Yours only.” Yamato smiles back, and they disentangle to walk back to their room. Yamato’s grandmother had told them to be ready in half an hour, when dinner would be served in the room of the grandparents. Haruki suggested to read One Piece in between, while Yamato contested he wouldn’t be able to read that fast. 

Back inside, Haruki rolls the futons against the wall so they can sit against it. He arranges the pillows, not looking at Yamato when he talks to him “I bought a few volumes, they’re in my bag.”

“The big one?”

“Yeah,” Haruki says absentminded, fluffing the pillow for extra comfort. He’s spent every free second in Yamato’s embrace if he could manage. He makes sure their seating area is perfect, when he notices the silence in the room. Yamato isn’t rummaging through his bag, and the oddness makes Haruki turn around. Yamato kneels in front of his bag, holding something for sure. On the verge of asking if Yamato can find it, his question goes unanswered when Yamato says his name.

His first name.

“Haruki,” It’s the first time Yamato uses Haruki’s first name, and it does things to his chest. He laughs off the serious tone in which it was said, thinking it was just his imagination. Getting up from his side of the room, he pads over to Yamato, rubbing his hands over the shoulders and down Yamato’s front, not yet seeing what the occasion was.

 

“Heh, we’re doing first names now? Cool.” Descending on him, knees right behind his ass, and the front of his torso plastered to Yamato, he likes the thought of doing first names. “Very nice, _Yamato_ , what's up-”

 

Only then does he see the lube and condoms in Yamato’s hands, who turns his head towards him. It’s a slow motion, and his eyes leave nothing to the imagination. He looks mislead, left in the dark. Haruki should have told him about the things he’s kept hidden all this time. 

 

“What is this?”

 

Haruki doesn’t allow himself to be embarrassed. He pushes the stuff out of Yamato’s hands back into the bag, frantic.

“It’s not what it looks like,” He tries to explain, feeling stupid. This shouldn’t be a huge deal, and Yamato shouldn’t look at him like Haruki did something bad.

“I knew you wanted- this. Ever since the beach,” Yamato says, eyes fluttering to the contents of Haruki’s bag. 

“The hell that you knew… I tried not to be obvious.” Haruki sits back on his own ass, feeling like shit. He doesn’t look up when Yamato touches him beneath the chin. He’s not as ticklish as him, after all. He shouldn’t feel bad for having these things, like his mother said, it’s better to be safe. Then again, it was new ground for Yamato. Of course he’s misunderstand and think Haruki only thinks of one thing. Okay so that was also true but he wouldn’t push it!

He doesn’t want to hide anything from Yamato, not anymore. There shouldn’t be a reason to. He explains, not looking up once, that mother bought it and that he didn't give it that much thought. “I mean sure, I think about it a hell of a lot. Always did. But I didn’t bring it- I didn’t plan to do anything here, at least not. Not if you didn’t wanna.” 

His doubts are kissed away. Yamato leans into his space, holding his body up with one hand beside Haruki. 

 

“I think about it a lot too.”

Earlier than planned, Yamato’s older brother calls them for dinner, and Yamato turns to the door, replying they’re coming. He stands up when Haruki can finally look up, and leaves the room first without another word. Leaving him behind second guessing everything he thought he knew. So far, it didn’t look, feel, or sound like as if Yamato didn’t want to continue their sexual fun. 

Letting his head hang behind him, Haruki sighs to the ceiling, blinking fast. 

 

*~*~* 

Haruki is put in charge of the little siblings when the older ones are doing the dishes. He decided to play hide and seek, the easiest way to lose the little monsters for a while and roam the inn. Baser thoughts lead Haruki, who after dinner, and the knees touch below the table during it, had calmed his head down. If Yamato wanted to do more than just kiss, and was ready to go all the way, Haruki should find good hiding spots for their romantic endeavours. Using the kids, aged 6 and 8, felt downright bad, but he couldn’t really help it when his heart and body were of one mind; a dirty mind.

Not finding them outside, Haruki checks the inn. He comes to the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he hears the two brothers talk. He doesn’t like eavesdropping and woulnd’t have stayed under any circumstance, if he didn’t hear his own name fall in the conversation. 

“I hope you’re being careful with that kid. He seems wild to me.”

“Everything outside your textbooks seems wild.” Yamato says, handing his brother the dishes he washing for the other to dry. Haruki’s head peeks around the doorway, holding his breath. “Anyway, you don’t know half. Komiyan can be way, way worse.”

 _Hey!_ Komi’s brows ache, but he keeps on listening. Yamato tells his big brother that he really likes Haruki and trusts him. The older Sarukui doesn’t say anything as they clean up the plates and cups. Then he tells Yamato not to worry about their parents for now. The brothers laugh that the oldest one can carry on family line while the second one can do whatever.

Having heard enough, Haruki wants to leave them alone. He turns around to find the two youngest Sarukui siblings at his heels, having grown tired of being hidden but not found. He puts his finger on his lips, a silent command to keep them silent. The little sister, Fumiko, copies him, and Daisuke pokes his cheek instead. He bows to lift the youngest brother, Daisuke, in his arm, and takes hold of Fumiko’s hand. He’s noticed how the little girl only allowed her tallest brother to pick her up. A good choice; after all, if you wanted height, nothing could beat Yamato right now. 

The youngest brother plays around with Haruki’s hair, asking when they go into the bath. As far as Yamato explained before the find inside Haruki’s bag, they’re scheduled to go to the onsen after dinner. The grandparents have gone already, so they could go to bed early.

“Atsushi-san is supposed to go with you two, right?” Haruki asks, laughing when both siblings pout in agreement. It’s clear to him that usually Yamato baths with them. Tough luck for the kids, but he claims the second oldest for himself this week. He tries not to think about how much he’s going to have for himself after this. 

*~*~*

Atsushi bends double ushering the two monsters back inside, and Yamato’s longer arms pat their heads and wishes them good night. Being the last to go, the two teenages walk to the outdoors hot springs. The mood between the two feels lighter than inside the shared room. Thoroughly rinsed in the washing area, now standing in the locker room before going outdoors, they put away their things to only take the towels outside.

“Have you gone to natural hot springs before?” Yamato asks, holding a towel in front of his private parts. Haruki tries not to stare too much.

“Only once, I think I was 7 and bored out of my mind.” Haruki answers, tying a towel knot around his waist. They walk out in the evening chill, warmed by the day’s warmth and the heat from the steaming water. The onsen is as expected empty but for the two of them, and they jump into it, leaving the lowers behind. Nothing feels better than a hot bath at the end of the day. Especially when you can curl up under your boyfriend’s arm, and against his perfect chest.

“Damn, this is the life.” Haruki whispers, closing his eyes as the hot water eases his mind. Yamato’s fingers draw lazy circles on his shoulder. They fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the cicadas all around them, and the gushing of fountains. Haruki cannot say for sure what’s more relaxing; the hot springs or Yamato.

The fingers on his shoulder joint travel over the length of his shoulders, up his neck and pushing his head towards Yamato’s mouth. Eyes closing, they engage in a slow kiss, making noises whenever their lips suck at each other. Haruki’s neck stretches as far as he can, Yamato ducking down, but not enough to deepen their kiss. It’s clear he wants to keep it safe, although he allows Haruki’s hand on his side, below the water. 

“How much do you want it…” Yamato asks, a near silent question whispered on Haruki’s moist lips. Haruki opens his eyes at the same time as Yamato. He puts his wet hand on top of the warm neck, speaking truthfully.

“Sometimes it’s all I can think about it. Being with you, being yours.” Haruki’s brows furrow, not sure if he sounds stupid, wanton, or downright like sex is all he cares about. He hopes Yamato understands, understands him like he did when Haruki couldn’t confess having feelings. As expected, this guy nods, placing various kisses across Haruki’s face, making him close his eyes. 

“I see what I can do.”

*~*~*

Waking up the next day, Yamato confronts Haruki over another thing he found in the bag looking for the manga. Even on vacation, Haruki managed to bring a volleyball, which he finds Yamato playing with outside the next morning. He does overhand tosses until he sees Haruki, then spikes it to his feet. Grin wide, Haruki’s head changes modes, from waking up to appreciating Yamato in the morning to bringing his arms together for the receive. They do this back and forth training they’ve done in the club countless times, until Yamato asks if Haruki wants to go running before breakfast. 

“What kind of pants are those?” Haruki laughs when he sees Yamato changed in his running gear. 

The tops are fine; arm revealing tank tops layering over each other. An undershirt in deep cherry red and a white, larger tank over it. The pants however, are another story. They were running pants alright, but the front was a silvery grey, reflective, while the backside sported a mauvish grey. In any other way, any other colours, Haruki could have appreciated duo coloured pants like this. Yamato, obvlious, looks down to his calves, where the cuffed hems hugged his legs. The view of the revealed calves and ankles was pleasant, but Haruki shuddered looking at the bright red and white running shoes Yamato brought and would go with the outfit. 

The other sighs and hangs his shoulders as they walk out, fastening their running shoes outside. “I smell another shopping trip.” 

“You bet your cute ass.” Haruki says off-handed, tripling and dribbling back and forth outside to warm his muscles. Once they’re warmed up, they go for the run. Haruki slows his pace to let Yamato decide the route, as he knows the terrain better. Being able to outrun him comes solely from Yamato taking leisurely strides that go far but aren’t fast, while Haruki likes the speed. Doing a short run before breakfast meant a no-go on going full out, much less getting lost on his own. 

Jogging next to Yamato like this meant it was easier on their lungs to talk, too. Yamato took him past sceneries away from the fields, and they discussed which fruits they would pick today.

“I think we’re going south for peaches and apricots. My brother will bring an overload of tissues, I’m sure. He hates the stickiness.” Yamato smiles, while Haruki tries to keep his mind in check. Sticky fruity juices on Yamato’s face, his fingers, his hands, his arms.

“Yeah, definitely need tissues.”

They round back to the inn, finding Yamato’s brother bowed over one of the younger siblings, trying to get them back inside. Daisuke has seen his older brother run around and wanted to join, much to Atsushi’s dismay. He gives Yamato and Haruki a gruntled look, disbelieving the need for activity from the two wannabe athletes. For once, Haruki has to steer Yamato away from trouble, and they go to the baths to quickly freshen up before breakfast is served.

“Peaches huh… we’d also need a trashbag for the pits.” Haruki wonders, putting water over his neck. Yamato nods, saying they’d always bring plastic ones for the waste. 

 

The rows of peach trees are even greater and wider than those of the apples. Separating themselves from the larger part of the group, Yamato and Haruki venture until they find the end of the line of the first row they’re at. Meeting up with the rest in the middle during lunchtime felt oddly satisfying, as they worked picking towards each other. 

Not needing a ladder or to sit on Yamato’s shoulders, they work together; Haruki takes care of the peaches further below, for which he doesn’t need to duck too much, while Yamato stretches out as high as he can get. The peaches are sweet and perfectly ripe, and they help themselves to eat one each tree they’re done with. After five trees, Yamato refuses to eat another one, saying his stomach is full. 

A few trees later, early morning still, Haruki sits against the last tree they picked, caressing Yamato’s head which lies in his lap. After four trees later, Yamato’s full feeling didn’t go away, and Haruki had offered to take a break. 

“Feeling better?”

Yamato’s eyes are closed and his arms curl in front of him. He nods slowly, not wanting to move away from Haruki’s fingers too much. Haruki breathes out, leaning his head back and relaxes. It’s so silent in the midst of all these trees, the mere rustling of the leaves forming the only ‘disturbance’. The aroma of hundreds of fuzzy peaches also fuzzes Haruki’s mind, who can’t close his eyes in order to make sure they don’t fall asleep here.

He can’t do anything when Yamato’s soft snores come from his where he lies on his leg, at ease.

*~*~* 

The amount of peaches is staggering. Half the inn works on making peach marmalade, and a few of the older people sit down to create peach wine. Yamato’s grandmother promises Haruki they make some for his parents too. With 90% of the inn gathered at one place, Haruki and Yamato steal away to their room. Dinner would be served once they’re done with the peaches, and there was not much else to do than sit down, relax, and read. 

At least that had been on Haruki’s mind before Yamato asks him what lube is actually for. 

“Uh, see, it’s to ‘lubricate’.” Haruki laughs, feeling small under Yamato’s wondering, not understanding gaze. Crouching over to his bag and retrieving one of the colourful bottles, he sits close to Yamato, knees touching, when he decides to show it. He spreads a pump full on his fingers, brushing over it with his thumb. “You see? It makes things slippery, easier to move in and out.” 

The words make Yamato blush, who eyes the see-through gel-like liquid on Haruki’s hands. Cleaning his fingers off his shirt, he takes Yamato’s hands and let’s him feel it himself. 

“Oh, it’s cool to the touch?” 

“Yeah! First time I tried it, I was surprised too.” Of course Haruki used it further below on hotter limbs than his hands. He had opened this bottle only once before, when Yamato had been asleep, just to test it out. 

Yamato blinks at the lube on his fingers, which he spread over the top of them just like Haruki did. Feeling flirtatious and ready to tease, Haruki takes Yamato’s wrist and brings two fingers to his mouth, watching when he sucks in Yamato’s fingers. They’re free of tape, and Haruki can’t help but think about the feel of taped fingers inside of him. He bobs his head a little, eyes closing. It was still hard to believe that Yamato stole the first blowjob between them, given that Haruki had been holding back not to attack him and give head to him. Revenge was sweet though, as the lube had a fruity taste. 

When Yamato retrieves his hand, he doesn’t wipe it. Instead, he asks Haruki if he’d ever touched himself, without specifying where. Haruki doesn’t inquire, not wanting to tease Yamato too much. 

“Only a few times in the shower during cleansing. When I knew I was into guys, I also had the feeling I would enjoy receiving, so giving it a try felt natural.” Haruki touches Yamato’s knees absentmindedly as he talks about the tense experience and spreading. “Didn’t do much more than a few fingers though.”

If Yamato is curious enough to pry about previous partners, he doesn’t go into it. Haruki wouldn’t be sure what to tell either, and is happy when they change subject and read One Piece until dinner time. Later, when he’s surrounded by so many Sarukui family members, Haruki makes sure he doesn’t dwell on how Yamato’s fingers felt like in his mouth, how other things would fit in there, or how the fingers would be welcome elsewhere. 

 

*~*~*

The next day they’re picking cherries. Haruki has a good time making several knots, while Yamato never tried tying a cherry knot and masters it on first try during their break. Not letting himself be bested (it had taken Haruki a whole afternoon of cherries once to be able making the knot), Haruki reverts to teasing.

“Well well well, I knew you were good with your mouth.” Laughing, he’s engulfed in Yamato’s arms, who hugs him from behind and whines in his neck. Lifted off the grass where they crouched barefoot, Yamato swings him around a few times before they crash back into the dirt. The cherry rows are much lower in height, and you can see below them if you squat. Struggling to free himself of Yamato’s grip, Haruki runs around, away from the heavy-armed monster that tries to hug him to death.

Finding another field, he goes back though, to bring Yamato here. They link hands on the way.

Against breaking the rules, Yamato stands still in front of the fence dividing them from the cherries to a large field of green. Unperturbed, Haruki bows low to go beneath two barbed wired lines, pulling Yamato along. 

“This is trespassing.”

“This is worth it. C’mon, I’m not letting go of your hand.” Haruki pulls again, careful not to hurt Yamato’s arm on the wire. Yamato would have an easier time going over it, but this way Haruki can make sure he’ll follow. There’s no farmer as far as they can see, and Haruki’s plan is to unroot only one of the veggies. He recognized one when he came by a few minutes earlier, and remembered Yamato’s favourite dish.Holding a Japanese radish up as big as his arm, Haruki smiles wide towards his friend, whose eyes are a mix of fear and hunger. 

“Komiyan, we can’t.”

“Not with that attitude you won’t!” Haruki laughs, taking his prizes of only two radishes back through the wire, hiding them in the sacks they brought for the cherries. Rushing after him and still afraid to be caught, Yamato makes sure the radishes are well hidden, while also looking as if he wants to bury them in the ground from whence they came. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” Yamato says as Haruki starts picking cherries again. One brow low over his eyes, Haruki quirks the other towards Yamato. It’s not like it was that bad, after all. 

“Relax, it’s fine! You love those radishes, right? Live a little!” Haruki laughs and finally Yamato crouches beside him again helping with the cherries. The sun was shining brighter today, not a cloud above them. Atsushi had sported a strawhat earlier, being made fun of by Yamato and Haruki. They had stolen the strawhat and took pictures, then found out Konoha was wearing one too when they messaged the picture to their friends. 

It seemed they were all wearing hats. In a long text, Konoha bemoans the fact Bokuto and Washio were having a hair crisis. Neither of them had gone to cut their hair before, and neither trusted hair salons outside of Tokyo. Haruki had a laughing fit, while neither Yamato or Konoha understood the drama. 

“Idiots.” Haruki wheezes, rubbing the back of his neck and over the dark brown part of his recently trimmed undercut. “Serves Konoha right to be stuck there.”

Yamato had a little more sympathy, although he doesn’t do anything to his hair then cut it every so often. Done for the day, they take their sacks of cherries, trash full of pits, and the illegal taken radishes to the meeting place. Yamato tries to duck out of sight whenever he sees people he doesn’t recognize, afraid they’re still gonna get caught for taking the root vegetables. 

On the way to the inn, loaded in the back of the truck with all the cherries, Yamato asks his grandfather if they could go to a mall close by. It seems as if the Tokyo children need some sort of big department store to sooth them from being out in the open so much, and so the old man agrees and serves them of the road towards one. The department stores here are of course a much smaller size and nowhere as cool as their own. Haruki doesn’t really understand why Yamato wanted to visit one, and he’s also too late asking when Yamato has run off. 

“Uh.” Haruki is left standing and made to hold hands with Fumiko, while Atsushi carries his little brother. Pushing his glasses towards the nose, he mentions that Yamato is impossible. Not minding spending time with the Sarukui clan, Haruki is his pleasant self, walking around the stores. Yamato is nowhere to be seen, and doesn’t text him his whereabouts either. 

In the end, Haruki doesn’t find out what Yamato went off to do. He figures there might have been a need for a toilet break; when they meet back at the pickup truck half an hour later, Yamato waits there already, empty-handed. His grandmother asks if he saw anything special and Yamato denies it, helping his siblings and Haruki into the truck before jumping on himself. He then sits next to him and a bunch of sacks full of cherries, careful not to put his arm on them. His other arm lies flush against Haruki’s, a version of handholding. 

 

He wouldn’t find out about Yamato’s secret trip until that evening.

*~*~*

The guilt about ‘stealing’ the radishes goes as far until Yamato eats the cleaned and cut parts of it. Nibbling it as they walk through the inn after dinner and the hot springs, the two of them threw their bodies into the yukata walking around at ease. Haruki has his sleeves rolled up over his arms, and they had interesting matches in the leisure room where they saw a ping pong table. 

Haruki’s reactions were fast, but Yamato had played ping pong a lot more and trashed him. As they didn’t have anything but oval cut radishes, Haruki didn’t mind losing and make Yamato happy.Walking through the hallway, they pass Yamato’s siblings lying in the semi-dark of their room, lit by a single desk lamp close to Atsushi’s head. He’s reading his siblings a bedtime story, working wonders with his monotone voice which makes them sleep fast.

“He always read to me too, when we were younger. He’s good at telling stories and making his voice flat and let you fall asleep easier.” Yamato mentions between bites and they carry on after sliding the door shut. Haruki thought they’d go back to their room, bed time being in an hour or so. Instead, Yamato walks back towards the common room area and then leads Haruki outside. He’s not sure what kind of adventure they’re off too, but as they arrive outside and hear the cicadas make their evening ruckus, his curiosity peaks. 

Yamato leads him up a ladder, saying he’ll find out upstairs. Intrigued, Haruki climbs the ladder, already seeing lights dance off against the wooden walls. The inn had traditional styled roofs, pagoda’s stretching over their entirety. Reaching on top here, Haruki finds it flat.

“Holy shit.” He whispers, crawling forward. Hearing Yamato climbing up behind him and taking the ladder up too reaches his ears, but he’s too stunned by the view in front of him. The roof isn’t empty; there’s a two person mattress, a series of cushions on top and upright against the wall. From the next roof hangs a cord and a mosquito net. There’s a bunch of candles placed strategically and carefully around the area, lightening up the whole place in a romantic hue. Beside the ‘bed’ stands a dish full of chocolate covered strawberries, a toothpick piercing them. Two cans of sweetened coffee stand in the glow of a nearby, large candle. 

Not understanding the view he’s seeing, Haruki’s heads turns to Yamato, who watches him. 

“You said ‘live a little’.” Yamato says sheepishly, rubbing his neck. 

“I have one question.” Haruki says, glancing back at the pretty scenery.

“...Just the one?” 

“Yes, about the coffee.”

Yamato shifts his weight from where he kneels on the roof, not looking at Haruki when he answers. “I guess it’s for stamina.”

Inside Haruki’s head, it makes click. He doesn’t dwell on the topic, and instead walks over to the bed, touching the mosquito net. It smells freshly store-bought. Where a western mattress comes from, he cannot comprehend. Touching the it when he sits down, he looks at the blankets covering them neatly, a dark blue spread. Yamato joins him on the bed, sitting right behind him in a way they’ve done quite some time now, it feels natural. 

“This is super cool.” Haruki manages to say at last, and receives Yamato’s forehead thudding on his shoulder. “Really, Saru, this is incredible. When did you plan all this?”

“Mhnn. I told you I thought about… us. Doing stuff like that, a lot. I also said I’d see what I would do about it.”

Haruki’s neck heats up fiercely, and it doesn’t calm him when Yamato kisses it. “I looked up what’s romantic and being with you under the stars, well. We can't see them in Tokyo and I thought it’d be a waste not to sleep beneath them ”

“Sounds sappy.” Haruki laughs, but he can’t dislike it. No one has done this for him before. Most of his experiences were awkward, driven by teenage hormones and a need to satiate his curiosity. Some of them were painful, now feeling meaningless if not for the pure knowledge he’s gained from it. 

When Haruki turns his head, he finds Yamato’s lips searching his. Their arms tighten, Yamato’s fingers, longer, covering his. 

“My brother helped a bit, setting most of this up. We borrowed a mattress from the inn-keepers, who have one just in case.” The only thing Yamato didn’t manage to bring was music, which was just as fine with Haruki. He leans back into the warmth Yamato provides, and they watch the stars. For some time, they talk about nothing at all, discuss the bright dots in the night sky, things they know nothing about, holding hands. Yamato’s mouth, when he has nothing to say, suck on Haruki’s neck and throat. They finish the sweetened iced coffee cans, eat some of the delicious strawberries. Haruki knew he could make Konoha angry by sending lovey-dovey pictures of the feeding each other, but he’ll spare him. 

Untangling their fingers in a slow motion, they travel over Haruki’s yukata, pushing the fabric aside to touch the inside of his thighs. The message is clear, and Haruki grins to himself when he enjoys the touch, eyes closed. Yamato’s mouth crosses to his ear, to his temple. It’s clear this is as far as Yamato can carry them for now, so Haruki needs to take the reigns and act on it. Turning around, he places himself on top, arms around Yamato’s shoulders. 

“You thought about us, yeah? Do you have any preferences?”

“I’ve given it _some_ thought but… I don’t know, really.” Yamato’s eyes take glances, good natured orbs trusting him. He might have a preferences seen wet dreams and such, but not quite sure to voice them out loud. It was fine with Haruki, who decided to use an easier method to figure it out. Knowing how to circle his hips, he grinds them into Yamato’s lap, reminiscent of their encounter earlier this week. 

“You like the idea of this, though?” Haruki asks, and Yamato confirms it by a fast nod and an open mouth exhaling sharp breaths. 

“You know I haven’t been with anyone. I wouldn’t know what to do-”

“Shhh, I got us covered.” Haruki smiles, wide and clear, his finger on Yamato’s mouth. “At least, I think so. Did you bring the stuff, too?” 

“Only that strawberry tasting tube thing.” He thumbs behind him towards the cushions, and Haruki nods in understanding. It’s fine with him. He wouldn’t want to use a condom anyway, if only to make cleanup easier. For now, he has to take care of Yamato’s fast beating heart and visible insecurities taking over here. He maneuvers them to lie side by side, facing each other; Haruki lies on his right, while Yamato is on his left. His feet don’t reach Yamato’s, only able to touching the sheens. 

If Haruki is nervous, he doesn’t show it. Yamato’s hand is on his hip when he undresses him, and he watches Haruki’s every move. They kiss to ease into it, Haruki’s hand under the opened yukata, fingertips slowly going under the wrappings to find Yamato’s manhood. 

“Trust me, I kinda know what to do. Me and tube thing will make you feel good, Saru.” True to his word, Haruki takes the colourful tube, squeezes a small amount out, and spreads it over Yamato’s cock, stroking it. Lowering himself enough to bring his mouth to it, Haruki puts his half-assed experience to good use. He didn’t really know what would fee l good for every guy, so he goes on instincts when he sucks at Yamato’s glans. 

In seconds, there’s hands in his hair, for a mere hold. Yamato’s breath is strained already, and they haven’t even started. Closing his eyes, Haruki falls into the motion of making his head move in a good pace, not making the suction or movement too fast. He fondles Yamato’s sack with his right hand, and pushes the fabric of the yukata over Yamato’s hips and leg, freeing him more and more. Tongue swirling around the cock when he brings Yamato deeper into his mouth, Haruki relaxes his jaw, taking as much as he possibly can. 

Leaving the cock with a dirty sound and a small gasp, Haruki trails kisses over the hardness. “Seriously dude, you’re big.”

Unable to respond, Yamato writhes when Haruki kisses the underside of the cock once more, licking the vein upwards. He then lies straight up again, kissing Yamato’s lips while he preps them both. Yamato undoes his yukata while Haruki services himself under it, and soon the yukata goes over his arms, baring him mostly. 

“Can I see?” 

“Maybe another time, pervert.” Haruki laughs, fingering himself easily, lustful grin stretching over his face at the prospect of being filled by Yamato. He breathes it out, moistening Yamato’s lips, wanting it so much he moans out loud when he hits a good spot inside himself with his fingers. It helps relaxing him, adding another finger and spread. Out of it for a moment, he doesn’t hear Yamato’s words, which turn into pleads, until he hears his first name coming off the lips close to his own.

“Haruki, please.” Yamato whispers on his lips, buckling under the ministrations of Haruki’s hand. Eyelashes flickering, Haruki nods, hooking his leg over Yamato’s hip and letting him hug him closer. For a few seconds, their cocks lie flush against each other, and Haruki hugs Yamato, kissing his chest.

“Ready for this?” Haruki asks coolly, holding Yamato’s cock in his hand and guiding it towards his ass. Yamato’s arms are around him, motionless. He looks scared. 

 

“Shouldn’t I ask you?” Yamato manages, giving Haruki an easy, mind-numbing smile. They kiss when Haruki pushes him inside, bit for bit. The stretch is way different than anything before, and all he’s longing for. One of Yamato’s hand, sweaty by now, unsticks itself from Haruki’s back, only to have the fingers and thumb circle a calming motion over his spine. It’s all the encouragement Haruki needs to let Yamato enter him deeper.

“ _Damn_ ,” Haruki breathes out, eyes shut tight. His jaw slackens and he tries to breathe in and out evenly, hitching only when he feels Yamato throbs. It makes his asshole constrict around him, and furthering the need to bury him deep inside. Yamato’s nails are a blunt, restless thing on his back, never much to scratch until this moment. Haruki’s hand is still between them, holding Yamato’s base at this point. Neck straight, Haruki’s mouth reaches Yamato’s cheek and ear barely.

“Feel good?”

Yamato can’t answer. He just nods, face hiding out at Haruki’s throat by now. His hips quiver, and Haruki knows he wants to move. Nothing he wouldn’t like more himself.

“It’s gonna feel better if you move. Can you do that for me?” Haruki tries to stay calm, to not rush this, to not overwhelm Yamato. The arms around his back go lower, holding him tighter. Haruki’s manhood lies snug between their bodies, and Yamato’s right hand, not below Haruki’s body, nervously snakes lower towards his ass. Kissing whatever part of Yamato’s head he can reach as he hides below his chin, Haruki tells him it’s alright. “I’m yours, remember? You can do what you want. I’m telling you though, thrusting forwards feels _really_ good-”

Haruki has to retract his hand between them when Yamato follows the advice, and starts moving his hip forward. He holds one of the asscheeks, a strong grip, and brings himself in and out of Haruki, careless of pacing, restless in need, and a total wanton that makes Haruki moan out his name through the rasp of his throat.

“Fuck, Yama- to. Yes, there.” Haruki’s hands cover Yamato’s shoulder blades once he can wrench his right arm below the mass of unmoving warmth, while Yamato’s lower body busies itself making Haruki crazy. He’s the loud one for sure, not even trying to keep his lust away from spilling over his mouth. His pulse speeds up when Yamato does too, there being no technique and the pacing going from fast to slow. It’s perfect in Haruki’s world view, who kisses the shoulder close to his face. Yamato’s moans are subdued between them, and he sucks in air mostly, harsh breathes covering Haruki’s flush chest.

“Hey, shh. It’s alright, slow down a little.” Haruki’s breath hitches, the joining between their bodies a lot to handle. He brings his fingers in Yamato’s mop of hair, trying to make his thumbs get a hold of the skull and move it. Yamato reacts to it, slowing his hips again, looking up. Haruki grins at the face, all happy to see so much bewilderment and love given to him from those sweet brown eyes. He asks if Yamato is okay, their bodies moving super slow. When Yamato nods, Haruki’s throat is dry and he swallows. 

Needing more control, he makes them change positions, pushing Yamato down on his back. They’re still joined, and Haruki lets Yamato help straddle him, needing the pull. 

They’re completely naked at this point; Haruki loses the yukata, and Yamato’s arms undo themselves of the large sleeves, letting the yukata lie below him. The moment is utterly, ridiculously erotic to Haruki, who makes himself sit perfectly on top of Yamato’s entire length. Hands on the pecs, he leans forward to kiss him. Yamato’s nervousness and shyness lessens for now, and he watches Haruki who makes his hips move back and forth, riding the length inside of him. It makes his toes curl, and he loves how Yamato steadies him with his legs, knees bend behind Haruki. The larger hands cover Haruki’s thighs, stroking them. Haruki grins again.

“You can touch me wherever, you know. No need to stay shy now.” Leaning forward on his arms, Haruki’s fingers curl over the strong, hard shoulders, and then he rides Yamato wilder. His eyes close from the intensity, the dirty sounds between their bodies, becoming wetter and wilder by the minute, their skins beating against each other. One hand scratching over Yamato’s chest, Haruki cries out, telling Yamato on repeat how it feels, how good _he_ feels. 

The vocal praise does things to Yamato. The hands grow restless, travel; never in sync and hardly at the same place at once, he touches Haruki’s ass, grabbing handfuls during the session. They caress over Haruki’s skin, going for the the constricting stomach and the red-hued chest. He holds the hips when Haruki becomes too wild on top of him and he wants him to slow down. He tugs at Haruki’s cock when he feels they’re closer to the brink.

When Haruki thinks he’s closer to the edge than Yamato, he begs for him, mindless what to ask. Yamato sits up, pausing the movements. He kisses Haruki’s face, hands on Haruki’s lower back, once more on his ass. Haruki circles his hips, unable to stop moving, not letting himself be stopped. One of Yamato’s hands takes hold of him, rubbing his cock slow and careful, setting the pace. 

Finding each other’s mouths, they kiss, moving as one. Haruki’s moans are muted when Yamato’s tongue harrasses his, until they’re both coming; Yamato on the inside, and Haruki all over them. The kiss doesn’t stop long after they’re spent and the night’s fresh breezes make themselves known on their naked backs. Yamato embraces him, kisses Haruki’s face, his throat, his chest, as far as he can reach. He even licks Haruki’s seed, who starts laughing at the tickling tongue. Arms around Yamato’s head and shoulders, he keeps his love close.

“Fuck that was amazing.” Haruki voices, not recognizing the depth and rasp in his tone for his own. He’s shaking below, sensitive with Yamato still in him. When Yamato’s head re-emerges, he holds the back of Haruki’s head, palm covering both the buzzed down dark brown and the coloured dark orange curls. Searching his eyes, Yamato kisses him once, softly, loosely on the lips.

“You’re so beautiful. This whole time you were- damn.” Yamato can’t finish his sentence. 

Haruki kisses him again, using tongue again, and they lie down. Yamato’s longer arms cover them up, closes the mosquito net to the best of their ability. They eat some of the chocolate covered strawberries as to not let them go to waist, but leave the candles for what they are. Haruki lies on his side again, arm and leg around Yamato, spend. He doesn’t care for the hot seed coming from his ass, or the cold sweat on his spine. He only cares for the heartbeat below his ear, and the content sighs coming from Yamato who falls asleep.

*~*~*

 

They wake at dawn. During summer, the sun rises before 5 am, making it a short night. At first, Haruki feels groggy, grumpy, not ready to face whatever the sun wants to throw at him. Sitting up, he rubs his eyes, disoriented. There’s a fresh breeze and he has to sneeze. Everything below his belly-button feels sore. Cold, he gathers a yukata from the side of the bed and puts it over his shoulder and back.

Then he notices the warmth of another person’s body temperature pressing against his leg. Blinking, he watches Yamato, who's still half asleep, his body unconsciously reaching out for Haruki. The events of last night rush over Haruki like summer rain, the humid air of their climate included. His body trembles and blushes all over, and he can’t help the smile off his face. The morning is a lot more presence as he looks at Yamato’s sleepy face, visible from the position he turned himself in; lying on his stomach and chest, limbs spread out, he looks at peace. 

Haruki touches the soft brown hair, and kisses Yamato’s ear. “Wake up…” 

Below his lips and hand, Yamato moves, groaning at being woken. An arm snakes around Haruki, wanting to have him lie down once more. Being more awake, Haruki tackles Yamato’s back, and tickles him. 

“C’mon sleepyhead. We need to clean this up before anyone else wakes up.” The reasoning and the fiendish tickle attack make Yamato move. It takes some time, and they’re grossed out from the bugs running over the remains of the chocolate-covered strawberry. In the end they manage to move everything downstairs quietly, then sneak back into their room. Yukata loosely bound around them. When Yamato notices Haruki’s odd movements and wobbly walk, he snakes an arm around his waist to keep him steady, and they exchange kisses on each other’s faces throughout the hallway.

Yamato spreads out a single futon, pillow and blanket, a crooked finger beckoning Haruki to snooze the next hour until breakfast.

 

Later when they brush their teeth, Yamato’s brother walks in with his siblings hanging off him like monkeys. Fumiko is slung around his neck, while Daisuke hangs half off his shoulder and barely bothers to hold on. Instead of helping out, Yamato snatches a picture for their parents. 

Making their siblings brush their teeth, Atsushi then pokes Yamato’s side, who is in the middle of changing shirts. 

“How did you manage to get a mosquito bite- no wait, never mind answering that.” Atsushi mentally reprises himself for prying, then ushers his two youngest siblings out of the baths. Haruki, toothbrush in mouth, looks around Yamato to see the spread of an angry red bulge. Spitting out the toothpaste and washing his mouth, he inspects it further.

“Do you have a salve for this?”

“My brother brought a whole arsenal of things. I forgot to use the spray yesterday.” Yamato says, scratching around the bite. Haruki holds his wrist. Haruki helps covering the bite with a good amount of salve, and once they’re fresh and clean, they head for breakfast. 

Haruki doesn’t know how to sit down. Lying in bed had been okay, but sitting is really menacing. Whenever he winces, Yamato notices, worry on his face. Haruki, grateful he doesn’t try to apologize for it, holds Yamato’s hand whenever he tries to touch him, letting him know he’s alright. After all, he had wanted it more than anything. He’s happy they’re not going to be in the fields all day today, given they’re bound to go back to the metropole in the afternoon. Haruki’s not looking forward to the train ride though.

Heading out, he voices the need for a cushion. Before Yamato can reply, both receive a message. Konoha send them an image of Bokuto in the bathroom, doing his hair. The message reads ‘I think he’s reviving..!’

After the losses, Bokuto hadn’t adorned his horned owl styled hair. Most of the images either Washio or Konoha send them over the past few days, he was wearing a hat, cap, or plainly had his hair down. Once they all return this weekend, they have a few more free days before the last training camp of the summer with the other teams. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I like having a break, but I miss playing.” Haruki says when he pockets his phone. Yamato nods in agreement, more occupied helping him up the truck. The soreness in and around Haruki’s ass didn’t tone down a single bit since he’s woken up, and when he sits down in the truck, it’s in Yamato’s lap. Much softer. Atsushi follows with his siblings, not looking at them, while the grandparents gush over today’s fruit picking and being able to bring back so many fresh produce. 

Out of earshot once they’re on the road and everyone else is preoccupied, Haruki leans into Yamato, grinning.

“I mean the break was super nice, spending it with you and all that.” 

He doesn’t mind the shove on his shoulder from Yamato, especially as it goes paired with a red face and being called a devil.

The ride to Tokyo is rather pleasant. Haruki’s bad influence on Yamato went further than stealing radishes, secret make outs in today’s hayfield, or sleeping on the roof and doing all sorts of stuff. After the train left the station and the siblings waved their grandparents goodbye, Atsushi made his younger siblings listen to classical music and ensured the nap they fell into. He himself dived into his books, building a fort of printed paper and upright reading.

To Haruki’s pleasant surprise, Yamato pulled out a pillow he stole from the inn. 

“No way…” Haruki mouthed, smiling at Yamato when he pulls himself off the seat to let Yamato put the pillow beneath him. The softer seat makes him relax a bit more on the ride home. Sick of the scenery outside the train, Haruki rather looks at Yamato when they talk. Twenty minutes later however, he falls asleep on Yamato’s arm, completely content and happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im done we're out this is OVER.
> 
> Thank you for reading and waiting for this to finish uvu

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically written and done, and Hannah only has to beta-read the final chapters (some...50 pages 8D). So I will update this regularly and hope the final chapters won't take too long uvub
> 
> I think I can read over the fic a 100 times (i did it 50x so far www) and could still find mistakes... I even find mistakes if I print it out on paper and then check later another time.


End file.
